Synchronicity
by orangetulips
Summary: It's easy to get mistakenly swept up in a romantic notion like fate and lose touch with the reality of the situation. But when all these little coincidences align right to the minute, it's kind of hard to ignore fate's big mouth yelling at you.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I don't own Glee or Rachel or Puck or anyone. Wahhh. _

* * *

Rachel absent-mindedly twirled her bar straw around in her vodka-cranberry, and wondered what, really, is the point of those little red and white striped teeny straws. You can't really suck your drink through them, and they can't possibly stir all that well and maybe if they have a little lime speared through them, there's a purpose but -

"And so, I was just waiting there, just waiting, Rach, by the back door and it was fate, I tell you. She came gliding through like a dark haired pegasus with a voice like pealing bells, and I called out, 'Idina you are my musical soulmate!' and then -"

Her friend Andy was telling the story about how he met Idina Menzel after the first time he saw Wicked.

She completely zoned out, but for good reason. She gets it, it was a magical moment (it would have been for her, too) but it's just...she's heard the story, like, FIVE times.

Tonight.

FIVE TIMES TONIGHT.

Andy is a predictable drunk, and he usually does one of two things when he achieves a certain blood alcohol level:

1. Acts out pivotal scenes from Dream Girls with himself as Jennifer Hudson (of _course_).  
2. Tell everyone within earshot about how he met Idina Menzel after the first time he saw Wicked and how they sang ⅜ of a line of Defying Gravity together and it was just so magical that the baby Jesus cried and their harmonies gave birth to unicorns adorned in rainbows and sparkles and cupcakes.

Rachel really was having quite the lovely evening. Her roommate Julia, was tending bar tonight and thusly, drinks were free. She and Andy were keeping Julia company till last call.

It was one of those New York City yuppie sports bar with pub style tables, buffalo wings, 27 types of craft beers, and approximately 4,571 different TVs showing approximately 4,571 different sporting events, which is the antithesis of her desired "scene". Rachel prefers her bars with a side of dancing, music, and motion. However, beggars can't be choosers. Free drinks are free drinks and even though Rachel was limiting herself to only two of those free drinks. She firmly believes friends are a pivotal aspect of any bar experience, whether it dance club or sports bar, and she was pleased to be there with hers, whatever the conversation may be.

Friends. Once a potentially foreign concept to her, she relished the small group of close knit companions she had garnered in her time at Julliard. After transferring from NYADA her sophomore year, she became more comfortable and confident, with herself, her city, her education and her future. Once that happened, once she let _go_ just a _little _bit, people actually found her enjoyable. She found _herself_enjoyable. It was like she had found her niche in the world, not only professionally, but personally.

She continued to tune Andy out, while still wearing her, "Oh yes, this is quite the thrilling story even though I heard it no less than eight hundred times throughout our friendship" face. Her eyes scanned the bar, pausing on the television right over Andy's left shoulder. It was towards the end of a tied Yankees versus Boston baseball game (which explained the packed and rowdy bar crowd tonight). She doesn't like sports, really, but something drew her in.

The entire bar was full of talking and shouting and laughing and cajoling and "Idina! She was RIGHT THERE!", yet the only sound Rachel's ears isolated were the notes wafting out of the TV, out of that Yankees/Red Sox game at that very moment.

"Good times never seemed so good..."

And her mind...

Drifted.

* * *

It was a thick and humid Wednesday night in late August Lima, and Rachel was driving home from a last minute Wal-Mart trip. She was leaving for her NYADA dorm the next morning, and decided at 9:30pm that she absolutely had to have 2 extra toilet cleaning brushes for the communal bathroom in the dorm, because, while she is sure the cleaning staff does an impeccable job, she is almost positive that the toilets will still require the Rachel Berry touch of cleanliness.

Mission accomplished, she drove past each little nuance of Lima, smiling fondly and earmarking them in her memory. In less than 24 hours, she will be settling into the city. Her city.

Her dream. It's actually happening.

She didn't get to that dream without drama, of course. Rachel Berry is not Rachel Berry unless there's at least some sort of drama going on, either the real life kind or the ballad inducing Streisand on DVD kind. After a somewhat catastrophic breakup in June between her and Finn, she spent the entire summer regrouping and rebuilding. Rebuilding Rachel Barbra Berry, as opposed to RachelandFinn, or, as opposed to Rachel soon-to-be-Hudson.

It wasn't pretty, and her broken heart was still tender, but every day it was mending. Much as it pained her to admit, Finn was right. There was no anger (anymore) between them; they both needed to find their own way in life.

Rachel Berry believes in fate. Soulmates, kismet, right place at the right time, stars aligned, all of it.

So if a RachelandFinn is meant to be, then it will find its way to be again, some other time, some other way.

She passed by the middle school playground and a lone, mohawked, figure on the swings caught her eye. It's not exactly commonplace to be sitting on a swingset at 10pm on a Wednesday night; then again, Noah Puckerman has not been known for his normalcy. She pulled her silver Prius to the curb and padded through the perpetually opened gate to the playground.

His back was to her, so he didn't see her until she demurely sat down in the swing next to him. "Hi Noah," she cheerfully greeted him. "What brings you here?"

"Nothin'!" He immediately answered defensively in a sharp voice, whipping his head around. And then he realized who his audience was. Rachel isn't going to make fun of him for being at a playground at dark (although it does seem shady and pedophiliac and fuck, that shit's gross; he probably needs a new "thinking place", but whatever).

He revised his answer. "Just...hanging out. The fuck are you doin' here?"

"I was on my way home from Wal-Mart, and I saw your unmistakable coiff and your truck, and curiosity got the best of me," She swung her legs and Puck noticed she was so short, her feet just barely touched the ground. "And thus, here I am. Plus, I do have a certain affinity for swings." She smiled. "So...what's on your mind?"

He looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Just tryin to fucking figure out what to...do."

She wrinkled her forehead. "About...? I'm a problem solver, Noah, I can adequately help unravel whatever vexes you." She tipped her head back and began to swing higher, with more purpose, as she waited for Puck to collect his thoughts before she steamrolled him with her solutions.

"I gave all my fucking money to my dad. All MY fuckin', hard earned cash, back in May when the bastard came back. And I worked so hard with pools and shit this summer and I thought I'd make it all back but..." He sighed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Can't make shit if you're not putting out for the cougars. I mean, seriously, I only get $30 a pool if I'm not munching on some rug or something."

"Noah!" Her face flushed red in embarrassment.

He shrugged. "S'truth. I'm not broke, but I don't got shit to get my ass to LA. Or anywhere except crap town Lima."

He leaned back on his swing, to get his trajectory started as she floated by him. "Oh. Well. Perhaps...maybe you can work at Mr. Hummel's tire shop? I know since Finn went off to Georgia, he's down another mechanic and I am sure he'd be delighted to have you."

"Tried. He's got some other guys and no room for me."

"Oh. Hmm. What about...classes? At community college?"

"I just graduated by the skin of my fucking teeth, Rach." He rolled his eyes. "You think I'm gonna go off and be all scholar or some shit?" Their swings passed each other briefly every few seconds.

"You don't know unless you_ try_, Noah," She urged. The cadence in her voice resulting from her incline during his decline emphasized the word "try", and it just pissed him off more.

"Don't make me have this conversation again. Same shit, everyone I talk to. I'm not smart. I'm not like you guys. I had my plan, my _one_plan, and it all went to shit. S'what you get for doing the right fucking thing."

"Which was...?"

"Giving my old man the money to leave us the hell alone. But now, _I'm_the one who's screwed. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I had it all figured the fuck out for once and...fuck. Once again, a big ol' disappointment."

Rachel drew in a deep breath. "You know, you sound like a petulant child right now."

Puck stopped abruptly, kicking up a cloud of dirt. "The fuck? You're not fucking helping, Berry."

Rachel's toes skirted the ground to slow her as she looked at him. "You've been sitting here feeling sorry for yourself instead of doing something about it. I mean, I get it, things didn't work out, but this isn't that new a development, is it? At some point, you need to think of other options, think outside of the box. Life doesn't always fit into the neat little compartments we create. So change it."

"Oh, just like you went ahead and thought out of the box the minute you fucked up NYADA?"

He saw a bit of flame behind her narrowed eyes as she stared back at him. "I mourned, yes. But then I regrouped shortly thereafter. I created lists, gameplans, pep talks, and I got myself in the place I wanted."

He scoffed. "No, _Finn _got you in the place you wanted. He finally manned up and let you go do your thing. You really didn't do shit."

Now her eyes really did blaze. "Ex-CUSE me? _I _didn't do anything?"

"No. _You_ didn't. _He_made you go, Rachel. You'd be sitting pretty here in Lima, planning on when to pop out your 2.5 kids with your Volvo and your picket fence with no Broadway dreams, if he didn't break up with you. Finn's not the brightest bulb sometimes, but you owe a debt of fucking gratitude to that dude."

"Noah, it is entirely possible that I may have lost myself in the fairy tale stylings of a high school romance, but I assure you that I got into NYADA on my own merits, because of my drive and dedication to my dreams!"

"Dreams you were ready to throw away at the snap of his fingers. Yeah, ya got in, but what did you exactly do with that acceptance?"

"Stop it!" She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes in frustration. "Why are you being so mean to me when I'm just trying to help you?"

He sighed and looked down. "I don't know. Yes I do. I'm just...jealous. I never knew what I was supposed to do with my life. You were singing Broadway on your way outta the birth canal, you had it all planned out. I can barely plan my fucking lunch."

She bit her lip and looked down. "I've...known my dream since I was four years old."

"Exactly. Fucking _four years old_."

She remembers four year old Noah. She remembers five year old Noah, and six year old Noah, and nine year old Noah, and all of those Noahs sitting on the front stoop while she held his hand, his other fisting tears away, trying to be a tough guy when his dad called him a mistake, or stupid, or not worth his time, over and over again.

She remembers ten year old Noah, when his dad finally left and shattered Noah into so many little pieces, pieces that would never be found again.

"I'm...sorry. You're not acting like a child. I can understand how easy it is to get lost."

"Yeah well...s'hard to be found if no one really _wants _to fucking find you, including yourself." He shrugged nonchalantly. "No one expected much of me, so Imma go ahead and do just that, I guess. Not fucking much."

"Oh Noah," She sighed. "I hate when you do this, when you put yourself down like this. I know you can do great things. I mean, you already have," She started ticking things off of her fingers. "You are an amazing dad to Beth. You helped Quinn out of a difficult time this past year when no one else could get through to her. While I don't necessarily appreciate your past methods, you've operated and maintained a successful small business. You worked hard to graduate, and you made it. You have an amazing voice and your expertise on a myriad of instruments is nothing short of incredible."

She took one of his hands, looking into his eyes. "Noah Puckerman, you are a wonderful, kind, talented, loyal, mature, smart, bad ass," She smiled and waggled her eyebrows. "And I believe in _you_, and I believe that whatever _you_ want to do in this world, you can and you _will._You'll do it and you'll do it well, and I will support you every single step of the way, no matter what."

She's still holding his hand. He wraps his fingers around it.

His thumb glides softly, lightly, over her knuckles, his gaze locked on her.

She's not exactly sure what's propelling her.

Towards him.

She slowly leans her face closer, her eyes fluttering shut.

He knows _exactly _what is propelling him towards her.

He's always been...it's always been...

Her.

He leans towards her, eyes wide open to drink in the moment.

He sees her raise her other hand, and her fingertips ghost over the back of his neck and her lips just about brush his, feather light, and -

The first raindrop hits.

Within milliseconds, the skies open up in the most torrential, random downpour ever and Puck legit thinks this is God's way of telling him to hold the fuck up.

Both spring up from their swings and away from each other, the spell now broken. A clap of thunder booms in the distance.

"Gah!" Rachel cries. "This...this rain! So sudden!"

A small part of him is mildly amused at her lacking vocabulary.

She tries to wipe the rapidly falling rain off her face. "We better go!" She yells over the pounding of water and the crash of lightning.

He nods, looking down and scratching the back of his neck.

Trying to erase the feeling of her fingertips ghosting over it.

"Yeah, g'luck in New York and shit," he calls to her, as she dashes to her car and hops in. He's not exactly in a rush.

Rachel rolls the window down. "Noah!" She calls out. "I - I forgot to hug you goodbye! And - and we didn't come up with your game plan!"

"No big," he responded. "I'll see ya around Berry. Go take Broadway by storm. No pun intended."

She grinned. "To you, too, Noah." He focuses on the raindrops trickling down her nose and cheeks. "And you will. I _know_you will."

He waited for her to pull away first, and he watched her tail lights fade in the distance as the rain continued to pound the pavement, soaking him. Mud and pebbles flooded the street, the rain rushing the earth towards the gutters.

Puck leaned back against his truck, closed his eyes and rubbed his face, shoving his thumbs into his eyes until he saw blacks and whites and reds and brights.

If only the rain could rush away the feel of her hands, her fingers, her lips as easily.

* * *

Puck does not "do clubs". Especially clubs that play that techno music shit and seriously, if you're at a fucking bachelor party, it should be at a fucking titty bar and not some bass pounding club that vomited the entire cast of the Jersey Shore. Half naked chicks were gyrating all over the place, and anything involving the phrase 'half naked' was usually a fucking ok, but he was sure half this "club" was crawling with chlamydia. In fact, some redhead in 5 inch stillettos and one inch of skirt was currently trying to eyefuck him and he pretty much could see the crabs in her crotch from here.

Plus, strippers get regularly tested for STDs, so at least you know your lapdance isn't going to end in your dick falling off.

So, clubs? Nope, not fucking feeling it.

But, it is his cousin's bachelor party. He came all the way out to New Jersey to celebrate Brad's upcoming wedding, and Brad had wanted to go to this club in New York for his "last night as a single dude" (even though it was a week prior to the wedding and there's, like, six more nights left but, fuck semantics).

Family's family and all (douchebag fathers count for shit, by the way).

And the club does have Jack Daniels, and since it's a bach party, they're getting drinks from chicks all over the place. So, ok, free drinks, that's a little bit of a fuck yeah.

Brad is currently getting body shots from some chick with jeans so tight they looked painted on, and Puck is slightly fearful for his cousin because if his soon to be cousin in law, Sandy, finds out about the body shots, she's going to nunchuck his dick off and he's just about to stop that shit from happening (the body shots, not the nunchuck cause Brad got himself into those first three shots without Puck noticing so, too bad so sad for him). Brad's head pop up from yeast infection jeans' stomach and holler (amidst the thump-thump-thump of that annoying as fuck bass), "MIKE SMITH, you sonofabitch!"

Brad clamps his arms around some tall fucker, presumably Mike Smith, and it's like, the gayest reunion ever because they're in a fucking club and his cousin is jacked on Redbull and Grey Goose and clapping this guy on the back and all grinning and shit.

He's only 21, but really? Puck's too old for this crap.

Or too normal.

Cause, seriously. Bachelor parties need boobs or something. Not Rhianna. Just the fact that he knows who Rhianna is and what songs she sings is enough to make him start growing a vagina.

"Imma get some air for a sec, bro!" He calls to Brad, who waves him off. Puck walks outside the club and past the red velvet ropes (seriously, pretentious much?). Across the street was one of those electronic stores with the billion tvs in the window, and they were all tuned in to the Yankees game.

Yanks leading against Boston. Sweet. Boston sucks balls.

He hums along with the bottom of the 8th song. "Good times never seemed so good..."

* * *

_Ok, so post chapter Author's Note: Sometime during the 8th inning at any __Fenway Park (Boston Red Sox) game, it's tradition that they play, "Sweet Caroline" (.) – trust me, I didn't pull that one out of my ass. But I didn't want to tell you that till the END of the chapter. I'm all stealthy like that :-) _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: If you're not familiar with the train system in the tri state area, Penn Station is the big train station in __New York City__ – some of the major subway stops run through it as well as trains going to and from the rest of the country. It also houses "commuter trains" between NY and NJ that most people use for jaunts into NYC. That's all ya need to know for this one!_

* * *

It's just...that song, _that song_, always makes her think of Noah. And when she goes and starts thinking of Noah, she kind of gets melancholy, for one of two reasons:

1. She's completely lost touch with most of the people from McKinley. A "like" status on Facebook, a retweet here or there, maybe a paragraph email a few times a year that gets forwarded, everyone adding their little tidbits along. There's an element of guilt here on her part. She gets so wrapped up in NY that she often only goes back to Ohio for a few days around the holidays and that's it. High school friendships fade out when internships, sororities, fraternities, sports, and dorms come into play.

2. Her and Noah have always had this..._something_...between them. There was always a Quinn, or a Finn, or even a Lauren, to come between them, and that was fine, by her. They came close to..._something_...that night before she left for New York. And she honestly got so wrapped up in moving into the dorms and settling in to her new life, her dreams, that she really forgot about that moment. She chalked it up to just getting caught up in the patented Noah Puckerman spell, that sexual attraction she's always experienced when she was around him, and nothing...more.

Right?

Right.

Because Rachel doesn't always like to face things she can't understand, label, or explain, and her relationship with Noah fell (falls? present tense? past tense?) into all three of those categories. They're not friends. Maybe? But she always just...it's always been just...

Something.

She shook her head out of her thoughts and smiled encouragingly at Andy, who was making moon eyes at some guy across the bar.

Back to twirling around the bar straw and trying to forget...

Something.

* * *

He was outside long enough and when he swaggered back into the bar, he ignored Redhead McHerpeskirt and went to get another drink.

Brad was still talking with gay boyfriend Mike Smith or whoever the fuck the dude was. Guess he better go over and be social.

Brad threw his arm around Puck's neck. "PUCK! This is MIKE. Mike SMITH!" He slurred. "Motherfucking MIKE SMITH!"

Puck gave a half nod and a cautious smirk. "Umm, ok." He gave Mike, this douchey looking dude in a tie (a TIE?) and jeans and dude, Pauly D called he wants his hair back, the once over. "And Mike Smith would be...?"

Brad grinned in drunken elation. "Here! MIKE MOTHERFUCKING SMITH IS HERE!" He clapped Mike, again, on the back and Mike just nodded and smirked.

Puck doesn't like that smirk. HE smirks. "Mike Motherfucking Smith" cannot smirk.

"Mike, this is my cousin from Ohio, Puck," Brad introduced Puck to Mike. "Puck lives in Cleveland but he's here for the wedding."

Mike nodded. "Yeah? And what does Puck do in O_hi_o?"

Fine, talk about him like he's not there, that's fine...dick. "Right. I'm a personal trainer," Puck explained. Short answers, he's not into playing conversation roulette with this joke.

"I was Brad's freshman year roommate at Rutgers," Mike explained. "We did some cray shit on College Ave, man," Insert second douchey smirk. "Shit you wouldn't even dream of in smalltown Ohio." He emphasized the "Ohio" in a doofy voice.

Oh, okay, so _that_'s how this is gonna work. You wanna go there, douchenozzle? "'Kay," Puck nodded and turned back to go to the bar. "Cool story, bro."

Family, Puck. Brad is family. Behave.

"Dude, driiiiiiiinks!" Brad interjected (thankfuckfully) and dragged Mike to the bar as Puck watched the rest of the guys in their group, also Brad's college buddies, swarm around "Mike Motherfucking Smith". Puck's a few years younger than these guys; Brad graduated last year, but he feels like he's the grown-up. These guys are all acting like they're high school freshman drinking beer for the first time, worshipping this greasy frat boy.

He's totally over this scene, but he's gotta wait it out; it's only midnight. He can't bail this early, and Brad's supposed to come back to Jersey with him anyways.

Fuck his life.

And fuck Mike motherfucking asshole Smith.

* * *

"Sooo...whatcha thinkin' bout, B?" Andy was a little more sober by this point, and he noticed Rachel's far off stare, her chin resting in her palm. "Pensive little diva, here."

She sighed and, again, twirled the bar straw. "Just reminiscing."

"You twirl that straw any more it's going to disintegrate."

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at Andy. "Do you keep in touch with your high school friends?"

Andy literally guffawed. "Hells nah!" He shook his head, smiling. "Growing up in Texas in the closet is hard enough, I sure as shit ain't revisiting that."

"You didn't have anyone, anyone at all, back at home that you _wanted_to keep in touch with?"

"Nope. That time is left far behind us. Far, far behind, with good reason. In the land of bell bottoms and fringed vests." He finished his water (a thankful transition from his Cosmos). "Why?"

"It's funny how you don't think about anyone or anything from home forever, and then all it takes is a few notes of a song to bring you back," She looked at Andy. "You know?"

He just nods. Andy knows Rachel well enough to not interrupt. This is going to be one of those hypothetical monologues where she just needs to talk it out, and eventually she will come to the conclusion that the lack of conclusion is conclusion enough.

"I just regret not following through on certain chances," She helplessly stares at her hands. "Not just professionally, but emotionally, socially. I see so much more now than I did when I was in high school, I understand a little more now about who I am and what I needed and didn't need."

She still doesn't see...everything, though.

"Ahh, yes, Rach, but hindsight is twenty twenty," Andy points out gently . "That's how growing up works. Your past is your past because it shapes you into the person that can look back and see the unseen in situations. It's not a bad thing."

"Don't you ever play the what if game, though?" She asks.

"Course I do. We all do. But, really, why beat yourself up over missed anything? Whatever happened in your past, it got you here, to this present. To your present, which is exactly where you've always wanted to be, yes? You're being rather vague, Divalicious."

She's quiet.

She had all about forgotten of that memory at the playground with Noah. And she's starting to wonder if it was really forgetfulness over the years, or if it was selective memory. Selective avoidance.

Because she should have followed up with him. She should have, could have, emailed or called or texted. Because that was an almostkiss. And, yes, Noah is (was?) her friend, but friends don't almostkiss, right? And she's not sure who initiated that kiss in the first place (_you know you made the first move, Rachel_) and she's not sure why she just up and left (_because it was raining, right? Umm...right?_) and friend or not, she never really helped Noah like she had promised him, after their little peptalk/conversation/almostkiss. Frankly, judging by that, whatever relationship they have (or is it had? Does he ever have these moments, too?), she is pretty crappy at maintaining it.

She doesn't even know what he's doing with his life. He doesn't update his Facebook, he hasn't used Twitter in years, and she hasn't seen him around Temple the few times she's returned to Lima.

In this day and age of social media, she thinks, I have no excuse to not reach out to him. She straightens herself. So that's that. Almostkiss or not, I will text Quinn or someone tomorrow to verify Noah's cell number remains the same and I will call him for a friendly "how have you been" chat and then this nagging guilt about...our...something...will dissipate and I can chalk that almostkiss up to those incredible arms and his sexy jaw and that gorgeous smile and those hazel eyes that you just get lost in and -

"Hellooooo, earth to Rachel!" Andy waves his hand in front of her eyes. "You left me, girl!"

She shook her head out of her reverie. "Sorry Andy," She gave him her patented Rachel Berry smile. "Just got lost in my thoughts and getting all existential on you."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Well, while you were getting existential on me, that dark haired stunner bought you a drink," He gestured to a full Cranberry and Vodka in front of her. "He's making sex eyes at you right now and I totes think you should go tap that."

She followed his nod towards the stranger at the bar and her heart flopped into her feet, her breath hitching in her throat, eyes as wide as saucers.

Is that...?

No. It can't be.

That's just too...

No. Too ironic. Too coincidental.

But...hazel eyes...toned, muscular arms leaning back on the bar...the confident smirk she'd recognize anywhere...?

That...that's...

Noah Puckerman.

* * *

Their group was dwindling; a few of the guys were gyrating on the STDs on the dance floor, half were already gone, and Brad and Mike were catching up like fucking girls. Puck expected them to start braiding each other's hair.

It was 1am, and Puck was ready to fucking BOUNCE. He's done his time, he's dealt with fucktard Smith, and they need to make the last train back to Jersey anyways. Time to round up Brad, the rest of these tools can figure their own ride home.

He clapped Brad on the shoulder. "Come on dude, time to get outta here," He said. "Train's leavin'."

Brad was still hanging on Mike's every word. God. "Mike's got an apartment in the city, Puck!" Oh, the excitement. Puck rolled his eyes. Mike also makes Brad grow a vagina apparently, because he's legit squealing right now. "He said we could crash on his floor tonight! Keep the party going, yo!"

Fuck. No.

Behave, Puck.

"Naw, man, that sounds cool, but I need to get up early tomorrow," Think of an excuse, Puck. "Nana Connie's flying in and I said I'd pick her up from the airport."

"Oh." Brad's face fell.

Seriously, Brad? SERI-fucking-OUSLY?

"Dude, you go ahead and stay. I'll get you from the train tomorrow. 'Sallgood."

"Fantastic, bye Puck," Mike steered Brad away from Puck within 2.7 seconds, and Puck could tell the distaste is mutual. "Let's go see if Boobtacular Blondie and Brunette HotAss over there will buy us some shit."

Loser, Puck thought. He pushed open the door to the club and checked out his watch. Nice enough weather tonight and Penn Station is only a few blocks away. He'll just walk there. Plenty of time to make the last train.

* * *

In a daze, Rachel walked up to Puck. "H-hi," she stammered shyly. This was all too much. This is Noah. Noah from home. She doesn't need to be shy. She stiffened herself and plastered on that Rachel Berry Broadway smile. "Noah!" She threw her arms around him. "It's so great to see you!"

The man chuckled. "I don't know who Noah is, but I'll be whoever you want me to be if you keep your arms around me."

She pulled back and stared at the man's face. Horrified, she saw _blue_ eyes, dark hair, and a downright _lecherous_smirk that was most definitely not Noah Puckerman's smirk.

The man continued to talk. "I'm George, I work in accounting, and I think you would look lovely in my t shirt tonight."

She pushed him away. "No thank you." Rachel turned on her heel and stomped back to her table, flopping back into her bar chair.

She is going crazy if she's seeing visions of Noah.

Certifiable.

This fact is mildly terrifying. Because it was only sexual attraction, it was, and the song just made her think of that almostkiss and it was just sexual attraction, right?

But if all it was was attraction, why is she seeing visions of NOAH PUCKERMAN?

Andy looked surprised. "Girl! Did you see what you just walked away from?"

"Andy, he was gross and disgusting and caveman-like and I refuse to spend any time with someone who is obviously in receipt of only three brain cells to rub together!"

"Oh, so he used a pickup line, and you immediately demote him to subhuman species?"

"Yes." She set her jaw.

"Whatevs. Your loss. You really need to get some ass, Rach."

She threw him an indignant look. "For your information, I absolutely do _not_," She shot back at him and stood up. "I'm leaving."

Andy looked hurt. "Aww, Rach! Come on," He pleaded and grabbed her arm. "I didn't mean to tease you and make you mad. Stay? Please? Don't be mad."

"I'm sorry, Andy.," She rubbed her eyes. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just really tired. It has nothing to do with you. I just want to get in my jammies and call it a night."

He pouted. "All right," he sulked. "Do you mind if I stay here with Julia? There's a guy over there that's most certainly playing for my team and I think I just about grew the cajones to talk to him."

"Course, Ands," Rachel smiled, using her pet name for him. "I've walked these streets alone before, and Penn isn't that far from here. I can pick up the A train no problem."

They hugged and Rachel threw a wave to Julia, who was up in her elbows with customers (apparently her dark haired bar fly found three very willing ladies to wear his t shirt and he was in the process of inebriating them).

She threw open the doors to the bar and started on the few short blocks to Penn.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Still don't own Glee or the characters. I wake up every day in hopes that it will change but…alas._

_Ooh, remember those commuter trains I mentioned in the last chapter? That go to and from NJ? Those are the NJ Transit trains. I know, name just says it all, right? ;-)_

_Also THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all your reviews! I heart you guys so much, like, as much as I heart guacamole and that's a LOT, believe me. I'm also sorry (not I'm not) for torturing you all by not having them meet. Yet. But don't worry, my lovelies._

_MUAHS!_

* * *

She absolutely adores this city, especially on a night like tonight. New York City still bustles, but it starts to lose a little bit of its hustle, by this time of night, and you can truly appreciate all the minutiae that makes this fascinating place so unique.

It's only October; it's mild enough to be without a jacket, but there's still that autumn crisp in the air. She hugs her arms around her and is thankful for choosing the skinny jeans tucked into boots tonight. How she ever wore tiny dresses and skirts back in Ohio, she will never know.

She allows herself to ponder her thoughts with each footstep on the concrete. This night is just throwing her for a complete loop. She hasn't thought of Noah, really _thought _of Noah, in months. And then all it took was a few lines of a song and she feels like she's thrown back into high school.

She had spent most of her high school career either chasing after, or being chased by, Finn. Rachel doesn't regret that. Her and Finn had a somewhat epic, albeit tumultuous, relationship that she knows has helped her (and him) grow. It was necessary. Her and Noah dated for a week, and while it didn't go much further than kissing, that week was full of the most toe tingling, butterfly inducing, body on fire making out of her entire life.

Oh God, those kisses, his lips, his hands...

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

Because it's always been something. There were little moments, these _soclose_ moments that would happen between them and then neither would acknowledge that anything ever happened and it would be back to Finn as usual. In fact, sometimes she wondered if she was dreaming some of those _soclose_ moments (and after seeing a vision of Noah at the bar tonight, it's entirely possible that she experiences hallucinations). She hates that she can't define it. She thinks it was physical attraction. She _wants_ to think it was physical attraction, but if it was _just_physical attraction, Rachel is pretty sure she wouldn't still be this affected.

And if she is this affected...she's not sure if she can make that phone call tomorrow.

Maybe it's just better if she forgets Noah. Obviously he is doing perfectly fine without her presence in his life. So even if it wasn't just physical attraction, she probably shouldn't bother making that phone call.

But she can't stop thinking about that night at the swings. Even that moment, that _soclose_moment, hummed with electricity and anticipation and...longing?

She wonders if he ever thinks about her. About all those _soclose_, _almostkiss_moments.

Probably not.

* * *

He notices that, even at 1am, New York vibrates with life. Every street corner is full of conversation and laughs and electricity and excitement and opportunity.

It reminds him of her.

He doesn't want it to.

He doesn't want anything to.

Unfortunately, he still thinks of Rachel Berry a-fucking-lot.

Despite the honks of taxi horns, the slices of conversations from passersby, the wafts of music from open mic nights, it's his mind that's the loudest sounds of all and Puck can't get it to shut the fuck up.

This is her city, her place (or, at least, it was, he has no idea if she is even still here), and she always was full of...light, just like Times Square and shit. It's appropriate, fuck, she'd say it's metaphoric (her and her big fucking words) for her to be in New York.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't think of calling her in the weeks leading up to this visit. Most of those times, he shared himself with a bottle of Jack, and, fuck, drunkenness reveals what soberness conceals, but he still didn't call her. He's only in NJ for a week; the city for a night, so he's just going to fucking avoid it all and he was doing a damn good job of that but then the baseball game and fuck you, Neil Diamond.

The last time he saw her, there was this whole thing at the playground and even the fucking weather was against him but he fucking swears on Moses that _she_was the one to make that first move and that had to count for something, right? .

No, it's better this way, really. He's done a bang up job about cutting most ties with Lima since he's moved to Cleveland. He doesn't need any reminders of the shit he left behind in that town, even though he really didn't get all that far. He talks to Finn and Sam every now and then, makes sure everyone is still alive and out of jail, and that's where his contact ends and that's fine and safe and _fine_.

She probably fucking hates him anyways. She was all about all that, "together forever besties for life" bullshit that everyone in Glee was spouting out their asses after graduation. He fifty percent expected (and one hundred percent hoped, shut the fuck up) a Rachel Berry patented lecture from her at some point in the last few years because he cancelled his twitter account and he doesn't add shit to those emails the gleeks send around.

Except it never came, so maybe he was just deluding himself into thinking, yeah, she definitely kissed him first (or at least tried to) that last night in August and he thought that _might _have meant something, right, it might have meant _something_, because there were no more distractions or Finn or high school or...anything...

But probably not.

And his finger hovered over the send button on his phone, her name on the screen, so many times, but he never actually pressed it. Because he doesn't want to think about her, he _doesn't want to think about her_. She doesn't think about him, so why the fuck is he acting like a pansy?

Seriously. Fuck you, Puckerman, you're a fucking vagina.

He's made a decent life for himself in Cleveland. After realizing he didn't have near enough money to blow off Lima, he whined a little and felt sorry for himself, but Rachel had been right. He had to suck it up and deal. He found a job at a gym in Lima working the desk and then after watching some of the jokers they had as personal trainers, he figured he could do a better job. So he took some classes, got certified, and, boom, he had a career. He had to get out of Lima before the town swallowed him up, so he moved to Cleveland. Not his ideal choice, but, whatever, it was cheap and most importantly, it wasn't fucking Lima. His job at the gym provides him with a paycheck and an endless stream of tight bodies that want to warm his bed.

And sometimes, he tries to make that be enough.

But most times he's just alone in his condo and there's only one face he sees when his hand is wrapped around himself and he wishes to fuck that it wasn't because he's supposed to be distancing himself from Lima and everyfuckingthing that is tied to Lima and especially her because she obviously does not, and did not, care.

He walks in between marble high rises, silverlit by the streetlights. He passes bodegas and hot dog trucks and strip clubs (yeah, see that Brad, _strip _clubs) and cafes and then he sees some yellow tulips at a flower stand, and, fuck, he knows she loves tulips and he knows all Finn ever got her were roses.

He thinks about her smile, her big brown eyes and how they sparkle, like, all the fucking time. And how she told him all those things about how she believes in him and is proud of him and she always smiles at him and no one ever fucking smiles at him all the damn time and it's not just a fucking smile because her entire face lights up.

He's not sure when he fell in love with Rachel Berry, but he knows he's spent God knows how long trying to forget he was.

Is.

Because the few people that Noah Puckerman ever loved in his entire life? Leave. So fuck that shit, he doesn't need it.

He's doing just fucking fine.

Right?

Right.

* * *

Rachel enters into Penn in an area of the station no where near the subways.

"Damn," she mutters, because now she has to meander her way through the entire station to get to the subway stop, and while Rachel is very confident in her abilities to use mace and her rape whistle, there's still some questionable visitors that take up residence in Penn Station on a Saturday night at 1:30am. That's what she gets for allowing herself the luxury to brood.

She attempts to make her way through the station as quickly as possible. It's usually the NJ waiting section that gets her the most apprehensive, for the commuter trains into NJ, but, of course, that's where she needs to go through next to get to her subway line.

Hand in her purse and on her mace, she marches through.

* * *

The rush of people that greet Puck as he walks into Penn Station is kind of unusual for 1:30ish but, hey, it IS New York. He's already got his ticket, so he's got some time to grab a Coke Zero and take a leak.

He makes his way to the board in the NJ Transit waiting area to check the boarding time. It has to be soon.

FUCK if the last train just left 10 minutes ago.

Mother fucker.

The next train doesn't leave till 4am.

Mother.

FUCKER.

He slides down the wall and sits on the floor.

Fuck his life

* * *

She literally skids to a stop and her boots screech against the tile floor when she enters the hallway by the NJ Transit waiting area.

Because she sees a mohawk.

* * *

What the fuck is all that screeching? Puck thought. Sounds like fucking nails on a chalkboard.

Seriously, now all this noise? Fuck his life.

* * *

Maybe she's drunk.

She only had 2 drinks, and that was 2 hours ago.

Maybe it's another hallucination.

Oh God, she should make an appointment at Health Services on Monday because these visions are getting disturbing.

But maybe?

Is it?

Noah Puckerman (_Noah Puckerman_) is sitting on the floor in the NJ Transit waiting area.

NOAH.

PUCKERMAN.

What do I do? Do I say something? Do I approach him? Should I wait for HIM to approach me? Why is he at Penn at 1:45am? Does he live by here? Omigod, is he IN the city for school? Why didn't he text me? Is he high? What if he's high, will he be mad at me if I approach him? Oh, or what if he's drunk?

What if he has a girlfriend?

What if he turned gay?

What if he's MARRIED?

(Really, Rachel?)

What if he hates me?

She's standing in the middle of Penn Station staring at this boy.

This is most certainly not the safe course of action she assured her friends when she left the bar. And not just physically; her emotions were running haywire when she left the bar and have only intensified. Her heart is pounding out of her chest and she considers the probability of 20 something girls having heart attacks in train stations.

* * *

Maybe he should just take a cab home. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a $20 and nothing else. He knows that's going to get him absolutely no where (well, no where he wants to be) as far as cab fare.

Looks like he's stuck in Penn till the first train leaves at 4am.

He just wants to go to sleep. This is what he gets for being a "bro". He's sure as fuck not trying to get a hold of Brad and trying to sleep at his fucktard friend's apartment.

Seriously.

Fuck.

His.

Life.

He puts his head in his hands.

* * *

She's just going to talk to him. This is HER city, right? And if, oh God, if this is another hallucination, it would probably help to give as much detail as possible of the frequency and intensity (oh God, those intense hazel eyes) of her apparitions to the health professionals that will assess her after they undoubtedly admit her to a mental institution.

But then, maybe this isn't a mirage. Because she's been staring at him and blinking for a good full two minutes and nothing has changed. She shook her head, she pinched her arms, she tapped her cheeks, and nothing has shaken the vision of Noah Puckerman, sitting on the floor in the middle of Penn Station, staring at the wall.

Ok. Whatever this may be, she refuses to relinquish any upper hand. She needs to keep her wits about her and not embarrass herself AGAIN.

Speaking of upper hand, his upper arm looks absolutely amazing and she just wants to wrap her hand around it.

Rachel. She scolds herself.

So. Yes. She'll just go down and sit next to him and say hello and maybe she can find out what he's been doing with his life these past two and a half years.

And if it's all just silly physical attraction.

And she can label their relationship and put it in its little compartment and that's that.

Ok. Just go up to him and say hi, Rachel.

Just go.

She walks over to him and demurely sits on the floor next to him.

"Hi, Noah."

* * *

WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK IS RACHEL FUCKING BERRY DOING FUCKING NEXT TO HIM WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERY?

"Rachel?"

* * *

_End A/N: ::GRIN:: Better? Love you guys!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: OMG, guys, I love these reviews! It legit makes me grin when I see one waiting in my email. I want to bake you all cupcakes with sprinkles and pink frosting for being so very lovely. THANK YOU! I hope this chapter makes you happy  
Also, this is Chelsea Piers (www dot chelseapiers dot com). It has lots of fun activities and such going on during the day, but it's also a lovely place to sit and think. I have no idea if they have benches, but in my head, they do._

* * *

She smiles hesitantly when she sees the surprise on his face. "How are you, Noah?"

And then she bites her lip and he fucking melts like a fucking girl because, fucking fuck, she has no clue how hot she is with the lip and the biting and the jeans tucked into boots and her ass, he can't see it cause she is sitting down but those jeans are tight on her legs, those_ legs_, so he can only assume, her _ass_, and he just can't help himself so he hugs her and shut the fuck up that's what just you do when you see Rachel Berry, ok?

He's so legit flabbergasted because, number one, in a city of millions, they're both in the same fucking train station at the same fucking time, and number two, that he even knows the correct fucking way to use the word flabbergasted.

It takes him a minute. "Rachel, wow...fuck...hi.".

"Yes...hello," She replies as his arms encircle her. Relief floods her, because, no, _this_Noah, this isn't a hallucination. Her face presses into his shoulder as she repeats herself. "Noah. Hi."

Really, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't happy to see her, to hold her, to feel her smile against him.

And she'd certainly be lying if she said she wasn't feeling butterflies when he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in his scent of pine and aftershave and _Noah_.

* * *

She still has that hesitant smile on her face when she pulls away and looks at him. "So, what are you doing at Penn Station at 2am, Noah?"

He groaned and wiped his hand over his face in exhaustion. "It was my cousin's fucking bachelor party and we went to this ridiculous club. Like, a fucking DANCE club, not a ti- I mean, not a...fuck...um..."

Since when did he get all vagina about saying the word titty?

"Gentleman's club?" She supplied, her cautious smile finally growing into a grin, reaching her eyes.

"Yeah. That. I didn't want to stay overnight with his douchey friend. And the last fucking train left 10 minutes before I got my shit in gear."

"Where's...home?" She asks.

She wants to ask about girlfriends.

Or boyfriends.

Or wives.

But home, home is a safer question and right now, a temperate topic. She still needs to feel this out, to tread carefully.

"Home is still Ohio. I got family in Jersey so I'm there for the week till Brad's wedding's done."

She's kind of relieved that he's not in New York City long term, because then she'd have to figure out why he didn't call her. Although, NJ is really close by so there's no excuse. Indignation takes over her hesitation.

"You're in New Jersey?" She pushes him. "That's so close by! Why didn't you call? Noah, we could have met up and -"

"And what, Rachel? Pretended to be all bff after not fucking talking for two years?" If she's going to turn this on him you can fuck well bet that he's going to call her out.

"The phone works both ways, Noah. So does email, and I know you've been receiving those mass emails that I organize biannually between the Gleeks."

He cocks his head to the side and raises one eyebrow, giving her that Noah Puckerman "seriously?" look.

She sighs and looks at her hands in her lap, her mind fervently trying to twist the situation into something that absolves her of the guilt growing in her stomach.

Because she knows she's the one at fault here. Maybe not 100% at fault, but _she _avoided _him_. Partly because as far as keeping in touch goes, Noah's just not the kind of person to make the first move, and that's convenient for her.

But mostly because...because maybe, that night at the playground...they just never were both in the same place at the same time, relationship wise. Finn, Quinn, even Lauren; all those were good enough excuses to ignore whatever always builds between them.

She's spent most of her high school career choosing the safe option. Even though their relationship had its ups and downs, you know exactly what you're getting into with Finn Hudson. For three years, she molded most of herself into being Finn Hudson's kind of girl.

When that chapter conveniently ended, she made a decision never to lose herself again. She was prepared, excited, to be a new and improved Rachel Berry, one who goes to NY and follows herself and her dreams and _herself_. She had her game plan and she was ready to lambaste it.

But that night, it was just Rachel and just Noah, no one or nothing else hovering over, holding them back. She started to feel this draw, all at once, towards him. And the self she was planning on being was crashing into this self that she never knew existed, this self that kind of, sort of, wanted to be Noah Puckerman's kind of girl. To see where an unpredictable, unclassifiable...something, with _him, _would eventually, finally go.

And then there was the almostkiss, that _almostkiss_, and she just...

Had to have the safe self.

She hugs herself and looks away from him, at the ground, her feet, the redcap steward in the corner, because she can't (won't?) respond. Now Puck is the one sighing.

He really doesn't want to get into an argument at 2am in Penn fucking Station. So he does what he does best and diverts.

"What are _you_doing in Penn Station at 2am, Rachel?"

"I know you're avoiding my question," She's got this resignation on her face that's not as pouty anymore and he kind of misses the pout a little bit because, God, those lips all...shut up, Puck.

"And you avoided mine. Both the first one _and_this one. So I win." He smirked.

"If you must know, I went out with friends at a bar and I am returning home."

"Alone?"

"Yes. Alone. Andy wanted to stay at the bar and help my friend Julia close, but I'd rather be home, in jammies and in bed, so I left." She explained.

"_Alone_?" He was a little incredulous because this was New York City and she is a small (hot) girl and, fuck, this is _New York City_. And Andy? Who the fuck is Andy? He's immediately jealous of Andy for no apparent reason. Fuck you, Andy.

Calm your shit, Puckerman.

She's got an annoyed look on her face. "I have mace and a rape whistle, Noah, and I am perfectly capable of holding my own."

He holds up his hands in a surrender. "And what happens when you bump into strangers in the NJ Transit waiting area?" He smirks again.

Oh...that smirk.

Her annoyance softens. "You're not a stranger, Noah."

They're both quiet for a moment, again, not meeting each other's eyes.

But really, who the _fuck_is Andy?

He holds his half drank bottle of Coke Zero to her. "Want?"

She shakes her head. "So what are you going to do since you missed the last train?"

He shrugged. "Sit my ass here. Maybe go get something to eat to kill time. The next train doesn't leave till 4:15, so I've got, like, two hours to kill and I'm tired as fuck."

"Do you want to...go get a bagel or something? Coffee? I'm not doing anything..."

"Thought you were hot to trot to get your ass in bed, Berry." He raised his eyebrows.

She was, until Noah Puckerman showed up in front of her and that smirk and those eyes, _those eyes_, she doesn't want him to leave, Noah, please don't say no, please?

And maybe she just wants to...

Not avoid him.

At least for tonight.

She stiffened up. "It is my duty as a native New Yorker to show newbies such as yourself the best place to get a bagel and the best place to get a cup of coffee. I'm just doing my civic duty, Noah."

He rolled his eyes, but was still smiling. "Well, then, far be it from me to deprive you of your 'civic duty', Ms. Berry. Lead the way, I'm fucking starving."

She smiles a genuine, relaxed, Rachel Berry grin, and that smile, fuck, he missed that fucking smile and...

Fuck.

* * *

The conversation isn't stilted but they both stick to generic, safe topics. Not at all mentioning the playground incident. Because, yes, she's sure it was physical attraction. And he's pretty sure he is growing a vagina because he actually tried to fucking analyze the situation.

He tells her about the gym, how he kind of fell into his career but it's (shrugs) "ok". She talks about Julliard, how the decision to transfer came easy when she realized singing was her passion.

She mentions her gay friend, Andy, in passing and fuck yeah. Dude's all into dudes.

He mentions nothing of a girlfriend. Or a wife, or boyfriend, or anything, and she doesn't want to read too much into that (but she will anyway).

They catch up on families. Her dads are touring Europe, his mom is getting Abby ready for college, and she doesn't need to look at him to know the mixture of pride in his sister and disappointment in himself that is reflected on his face.

Her fingers brush against his.

They're just walking aimlessly (well, he is, he doesn't know the city like she does) amidst the dark night. A dampness chills the air; the evening's earlier breeze has considerably increased.

"Where we goin', Rach?" His mouth was full of a pork roll, egg, and cheese sandwich.

"Chelsea Piers," she replied. "It's really nice and peaceful right now and I always like the pier at night...well...I guess this is really morning."

He shrugged. "'Kay."

Maybe he just wants to go back to Penn, Rachel panics a bit, reading into his nonchalance. Maybe he doesn't want to be here with me, she thinks. Maybe he is angry that I didn't call him after that night and maybe I should have but...

He swallows. "Chelsea sounds good. Never been."

She's relieved and lets out the sigh she's been holding in. "Well, nothing is open right now, but it's still a nice area to just sit around. Better than Penn."

Maybe she was just imagining it, the way his shoulder kept bumping hers. How his hand lingered on the small of her back when he guided her through the doors at Penn, or when she walked over a subway grate in the sidewalk.

Maybe this is all just silly and coincidental.

She feels his fingers brush against hers.

* * *

Chelsea is quiet, the activities complexes closed, shops and golf courses dark. The water is lit black by the night, a translucent sheen skimming the surface.

Puck sees a bench and plops down on it, resting his legs against a railing overlooking the water. He sets his arms behind his back , scooting his hips down on the bench to relax, and Rachel can't help but smile, because he's just so...Puck.

She sets herself next to him, leaning forward and tucking her hands snugly under her thighs. "So...do you keep in touch with anyone from McKinley?" She thinks she knows the answer, but it still stands to be asked.

"Nope," He flexes his feet. "Well, Finn texts me like a fuckin' girl if he's got shit to tell me, and I'll reply but, whatever." His legs stretch out. "I cut my ties with that shit."

She stares at him. "But...why? Why cut us all off, we were all friends in high school," Her lip trembles slightly. "Friendships aren't disposable, Noah."

"Please," He scoffs. "High school ones are. It don't last forever, and I am fuck glad."

"Doesn't," She corrects him.

"What thefuck ever, Rach," He rolls his eyes and stares out at the water. "You guys all started your own lives, following your dreams and shit, and anyways, I don't have any worthwhile stories to tell."

"Oh stop that, you have a successful career, Noah!" Rachel protests. "It makes sense to me, you being a personal trainer. You're so..." She swallows. "Toned."

He raises an eyebrow at her, grinning and giving her a half nod. "Fuck yeah, I got sweet guns."

She smiled. "Yes, Noah, we can establish your body is," She pauses. "In shape."

She's surprised at how brazen her thinking is but then again, maybe...maybe that proves, yes, this is just a physical attraction.

Excellent. Mission accomplished.

"So, boyfriend?" His abrupt topic change startles her.

"What? Me? No," She's flustered. "No. No boyfriend. None for...awhile now."

Puck looks back at the water, nodding. "'Kay."

"What - what about you?" She ventures in a small voice. "Any...relationships?"

"Nope," he answers, popping on the "p" of his answer.

"Cougars?" She asks, with a smile.

"Seriously?" He shakes his head, aggravated. "What the fuck, Rachel?"

"I...I..." She's stammering because she's not sure why he's so...angry?

"You wanna know why I don't keep in touch? Cause of this shit," He growls. "Fuck, you make a few fucking mistakes and you get labeled for the fuck rest of your life. That's why I wanted to get the hell away from Lima, and everyone else."

"I...I didn't mean to make assumptions..." Her voice trails off.

"Whatever." He's still mad; she knows it.

"I _didn't_," She's indignant. "Boy, Noah, you're awfully moody tonight. You're...you're acting like..." she sums up her courage and tries to think of a good comparision. "You're acting like you're menstruating!"

He doubles over in laughter, almost falling off the bench. "What? Did you really just fucking _say_that?"

She gives him a tiny smile. "Yes," She draws herself up again. "Yes, I did, because you are acting...like...like THAT. That is how you are acting."

He shakes his head, still chortling. "Of all the insults you...you are just too fucking much, Rachel Berry."

"Well, it's true!"

"Ok, ok, we've established that." He smiles at her and she shoots him an angry look (well..._her_version of an angry look and it's looks about as intimidating as a fluffy bunny rabbit). "Not making fun of you. It's just...cute."

Fuck yeah it's cute. And the way her jeans are all tucked into those boots is cute, and the way her hair is falling in her face while she looks at him through those long fucking lashes is cute and her cheeks are flushed rosy and pink and that's cute, and fuck yeah he can put a fucking better blush on those cheeks.

His compliment hangs in the air.

"Do...do you still play music?" She asks.

"Yeah, sometimes, fuck, I love my guitar," He answers, more relaxed now that the joke eliminated any discord. "I played a few open mics in the Cleve, but shit's nothing compared to you, Miss New York."

"I've only been in productions that the school stages," She's modest but proud. "Nothing big, although my one professor recommended me for an opera class next semester."

"Well, y'should do it, you could sing the shit outta the fucking phone book."

She smiles towards the darkness in the water. "Thank you, Noah. I'm really happy here, in New York, in Julliard. I feel...fullfilled. I feel like I've found _my_place."

He just nods in response.

"Are you...are you happy? Did you find your place, Noah?"

He shrugs. "Yes. No. I don't fucking know. Whatever, I don't have dreams, Rachel. Shit, I dunno. I ruined them... those... a long time ago. I just...live and whatever. It's fine and I'm fine."

"But...but you have some things that make you happy right? I mean, you have a great career and you're living on your own and you're not in Lima and...and you should be proud of yourself."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Y'know, when I got my guitar in my lap it's like..." He pauses. "I never want to go back to fucking Lima. I don't want any of those shit reminders, all the crap I fucked up. And when I'm playing...fuck, when I'm strumming and shit? It's like...I'm like fucking _home _then. So, yeah, I guess that's...that's when I'm...happy."

She turns her whole body to face his on the bench, while he is still squared against the wind, against the water splashing onto the piers. She puts her hand gently on his thigh. "You're allowed to be happy, Noah." She says in a quiet voice. "You...deserve to be happy."

Something...clicks.

His face is trained on the ground, Adam's apple bobbing. He doesn't move a muscle, his eyes flicker up to meet hers.

Her heart is beating out of her chest, and she swallows hard, her hand tentatively, shyly, moving to the face side of his face.

Her fingertips brush against his ear, his cheek, cupping his jaw, slowly, softly, turning his face to meet hers.

And then he tastes the first drop of rain on her lips, the second, the third, falling from her eyelashes to his cheeks, rolling down the tip of her nose onto his chin. The rain sheets down, saturating and mixing in with the kiss, and something inside him tenses.

He waits for her to pull away again.

* * *

_End A/N: ::peeks eyes out from behind closed fingers:: Still love me, guys? Even though I threw you another cliffhanger? Remeber...cupcakes...? MWAHs!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Still not of the owning of the Glee. Also, there be smut here. _

* * *

She doesn't.

He's still waiting for her to change her mind, to jump back and make some sorry excuse (cause, seriously fuck you, weather, you fucking cockblock). Instead she deepens her mouth on his, kneading, nibbling on his bottom lip, and, fuck, that's a damn nice surprise and he's just gonna fucking go with this and_ fuck yeah_.

The rain is really pounding down now, but, this time, neither care. He pulls Rachel into his lap; she's cupping his face, fingers dancing lightly across his jaw. His hands are tangled up in her soaking wet hair, rain dripping through his fingers, trickling on his knuckles, sliding down his wrists. He feels her shiver a bit, so he pulls her closer into him and as far as he's concerned, that's still not fucking close enough.

She wants to, but she just can't analyze what this all means because his hands, _his_ _hands_, his palms are on her cheeks and his fingers stretch into her hair, thumbs stroking her hairline. The juxtaposition of everything she's known about Noah, about Puck, combined with this gentle, intimate action, it all makes her melt into a puddle of fire. The rain trills off of his mohawk onto her forehead. She sighs into his mouth as he untangles one hand from her hair and trails it down her back.

"Noah..." She breathes into him, and he moves to kiss her neck. "The...the rain...I-I'm soaking wet...you are..."

His voice vibrates against her. "M'fine babe. Fiiiiiiine."

"Can we just...maybe..." She bites her bottom lip and he unlatches himself to look at her. Brown eyes peek through long lashes up at him, and then down to her lap. "I mean, we're in a public place and while, yes, it is late at night and the pier is essentially uninhabited, It's entirely possible that this could be construed as a lewd display, I mean, not that I particularly want us to be caught, although I could understand the allure in something like that for some people, I just feel this is -"

"Rachel."

She sums her breath up. "Can we...maybe...I mean, I don't live that far away, and...I mean, if you want to, that is..."

Fuck.

Yes.

Now, yes, now, let's fucking go, it's the 21st fucking century, why the fuck is there no teleporting Jetsons shit yet?

"Cab," He mumbles, as she crawls off his lap. He sets his hand on the small of her back again and steers her to the corner. That one seemingly small, protective, gesture makes her toes tingle and, yes, maybe this isn't all physical attraction.

* * *

It makes him appreciate New York City that much more that Rachel is able to hail a cab, at 2:30am, so quickly. Fuck, in Lima - Cleveland even - there are, like, five cabs and good luck trying to get their attention any time past 10pm.

Plus, ok, so he is still a guy and when she raises her arm he can really..._really_appreciate the way the rain is making her sweater cling to her boob.

So, yeah, that kiss? He's not exactly sure where that was coming from, or maybe he is, because he's wanted to kiss her, really kiss her, since...probably forfuckingever, if he's being honest. And, this whole meeting in Penn Station thing? Fuck, that's...

He doesn't believe in fate. All that destiny and "meant to be" bullshit, that's for girls. But maybe...he believes in _something_, cause this shit's too coincifuckindental not to.

Her mind is racing a million miles a minute as they climb into the cab. Rachel Berry doesn't do one night stands. Every sexual physical encounter in her life up to this point, had the promise of an eventual relationship. Sometimes she was deluding herself into believing those promises (most of those relationships didn't exactly come to fruition) and maybe that's why she's been boyfriendless for so long. She just...can't enter into something for physical reasons alone. It's just not the way she's wired.

But back at the pier, she couldn't help herself, one minute they were talking, and he said that thing about music being his home, and she just...she just had to kiss him, she _had_to. If she didn't, she really felt that she was legitimately going to explode.

She's not sure she is ready to admit to herself that...that...

That maybe she just doesn't want him to stop touching her and that's just about all she can admit to right now.

And in the cab, he doesn't. It's completely chaste, his arm stretched across the back of the seats, an innocent hand brushing against her shoulder. She shudders, the air blowing from the cab's air conditioner chilling her wet skin. His arm drops around her and pulls her in close, that innocent hand starting to draw circles on her forearm. A fire pools in the pit of her stomach again and she yearns for a city where speed limits are extinct.

She waffles between sheer unadulterated desire, and sheer unadulterated logic screaming in her head,. She remembers to pull her phone out and text Julia.

She sees a text from about an hour ago, from Julia:

_Hey remember that Mike guy, from that party last month at Rutgers? HE CAME INTO FLANNERY'S TONIGHT RIGHT BEFORE WE CLOSED. Isn't that ironic?_

She quickly types:  
_fyi, bringing someone home_.

She can't bring herself to categorize exactly who the someone is and elaborate on exactly what they are coming home for.

_You met a GUY on the walk home from the bar?_

_Is he someone I know?_

_Rachel Berry, are you having a one night stand?_

_HE LOOKED HOT RACH, IS IT HIM? MIKE? IT'S HIM ISN'T IT? TAP THAT ASS GUUURRL!_

And then, she assumes Julia texted Andy, or Andy is with Julia, because her phone is vibrating non stop with texts from both of them.

_Was it the three piece suit pickup line guy from the bar, Rach? I knew you'd come to your senses!_

_USE PROTECTION._

_Julia has flavored condoms in her nightstand left drawer don't tell her I told you they taste like cherries yummm_

Julia has moved into the all caps portion of texting and Rachel knows her avoidance in replying is driving them insane.

_RACHEL BERRY ANSWER MY TEXT MESSAGES WHO IS THIS GUY YOU ARE BRINGING HOME? WHAT IS GOING ON?_

He hears her phone vibrate over and over again, but she makes no move to reach back into her purse. Instead, she snuggles a little closer to him and he continues to draw patterns on her arm as he stares out the window.

They're both silent; the only sound is the splashing of the tires as the cab slugs along in traffic (traffic...at 2:30am. Go figure). He's afraid (shut the fuck up) of opening his mouth because he's pretty sure his dick will probably get to the words before his brain catches up.

And she's just...torn.

Her eyes sneak a glance at him without moving her head. He's staring out the window, fingers strumming lazily on her arm.

How can she answer any questions from Julia or Andy about what Noah is to her...what she is to him...if she can't even answer them herself?

* * *

"Fuck, Rach, Jesus Christ, all these stairs?" Puck's staring at the wraparound 8 flights up to her apartment.

"Yes, all these stairs. The elevator breaks constantly, so I take the stairs instead."

He bites his tongue about wanting to be stuck in an elevator with her because, yes, right, that whole dick-before-brain thing again. So he sighs and starts trudging up the stairs, Rachel behind him.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Noah. You practically live in the gym," She says, barely masking her irritation. He sighs loudly and pointedly, on the third landing.

"But I'm laaaa-zy," He whines.

She pushes him out of the way and hops up the stairs in front of him jauntily, her boots clicking with each step. It gives him a good view of her ass and, well, he suddenly has the stamina for the rest of the trek.

The smell of wet clothing hangs in the hallway as they reach her apartment door. Her hair is drying in soft curls around her face and he wants to just wrap them around his finger.

After a glass of water cause, fuck, he's in shape and all but eight levels of wrap around stairs? Fuck you, elevator.

She drops her purse and keys on the small table by the door and he takes in the tiny living room in her two bedroom apartment. It's a shit ton smaller than what he has in Cleveland, but, fuck; _New York_.

She's suddenly shy about her living space. "I know it's not all that big but...we each have our own bedrooms, small bedrooms but still. And Dad and Daddy got a really great deal on it, for rent in the city."

"It's...awesome, Rach," He smiles. "It's awesome cause it's fucking _yours_."

She squeezes her hair out as she opens the refrigerator in the small walk-through kitchen. Her back to him, she calls out, "Water? I have some beer too, juice, and soy milk- "

He walks up behind her and leans against the counter, resting his hands on its edge.

She turns around, expecting his answer. She's immediately disarmed by how intently he is looking at her. "N-Noah?"

"Rachel...do you remember that night...the playground?"

It's the question they've been dancing around all night.

She closes her eyes. "Yes."

He just...he just fucking needs to know.

"I think about it, y'know. A lot."

Her eyes open and she looks through her lashes at him. "Y-you do?"

"I mean...fuck...that shit was big, what you said to me, that shit meant a lot. The believing in me shit."

Oh. That's what he means. She thought he meant he thought about...the...

"And then," He takes a step closer and he's directly in front of her, almost touching. She can feel his breath on her face, his voice is low. "Rach, I fucking swear that you were going to kiss me that night, before the fucking tsunami or whatever started."

Her tongue darts out and licks her lip unconsciously. "The...the rain. It started raining."

"I wanted to, y'know?" His voice is husky. "Kiss you. For, like, fucking ever."

"Me too." It slips out, without thinking, without pretense, and she is just as surprised as he is.

Her minds shuts down and something else takes over, as she presses herself against him. His mouth meets hers, and he snakes his arms around her. He picks her up as she wraps her legs around his torso, and turns around to set her down on the counter.

So he's guessing she doesn't want to talk.

This works.

She plunges her tongue into his mouth, and, fuck, she's nibbling on his bottom lip again, and _fuck_, he's going to just -

He needs to move. Since when was he 14 and blowing his load on a kiss?

He pries his mouth from hers and goes to work on her neck, licking, sucking, right below her earlobe and a breathy moan escapes her lips.

How does he do that? She didn't even know these spots on her existed, spots that could literally make her see stars, and he is finding all of them within a matter of seconds.

Her legs are still wrapped around him and she uses her heel to press into his lower back right above his ass. The movement brings him closer, eliminating the gap between them.

"Ow!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He chuckles. "No, Rachel, those boots...fuck...so fucking hot," His hand rubs her leather covered calf. "Wear boots more often, baby, seriously."

She giggles, a part of her wondering if this means _he _wants to see her more often.

She doesn't have time to ponder the thought as his mouth works down her neck, peppering small kisses on her collarbone, murmuring into her skin, "So hot...baby...so beautiful...kiss you all over..." She dips her head back and screws her eyes shut and, _ohmyohmyohmyohmy_, why did she not kiss this man sooner in her life?

She manages to breathe out, "Bedroom," and it is music to his ears because, fuck, this is what he's thought about for the past two years and probably even longer and she is giving him a fucking green light.

However, logistics wise, he's not putting her down (until he's on top of her). He's not letting her go. Call it being a pussy, but there's this part of him (shutup) that thinks, if he puts her down, if he stops this momentum they have going, it's going to all...

Stop.

Again.

And fuck if he's not letting that happen because, yes, he's pretty fucking sure she wants this as badly as he does, and this might be his...their...only chance.

So he carries her, their lips fused to each other, to her bedroom ("Left or right door?" he mutters into her kiss and she presses her tongue, and her answer, back into his, "Left.") and he kicks the door closed with his foot before he lays her on the bed and crawls on top of her.

And then it's all, there and _rightthere_and licks and laps and caresses. He unzips her boots slowly, gently savouring. Shirts and sweaters and pants and undergarments flutter to the ground piece by piece, each article unwrapping a present to be explored and lavished with mouths and tongues and nibbles. She undoes his belt buckle and can't help but stare, and when he smirks back at her it sets her entire body on fire again, with the contrast of sweet, gentle Noah, to strong, confident Puck. His hands explore every square centimeter of her body, she returns the favor, and after he pulls the condom from his wallet, he stares deep into her eyes before he enters her, hesitating, waiting.

And then both of them are finally...

In sync.

They fall asleep wrapped together, no worries of trains or explanations or relationships. Time is irrelevant, conversation is unnecessary; the spell is still lingering and enveloping the air around them.

* * *

He wakes up a few hours later, soft beams of sun streaming through the curtains. His arms are empty and Rachel is sitting, cross legged, on the edge of the bed watching him, chewing her lip.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Time s'it?"

She's breathing heavy and her eyes are large. " 6ish."

He yawns and stretches, closing his eyes again. "M'surprised we only slept for a little bit...come back..."

"Noah..." Her voice snaps him awake. Wide awake.

That lip, she's chewing on that fucking lip and why is she breathing so heavy and fuck what the _fuck _is going on.

"What." He's not asking, he's _not fucking asking_.

"I...I think...I think last night was a...a m-mistake."

* * *

_End A/N: Um…yeah…I love you? Please still love me?_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to post this! It's been a crazy week with work and real life. Although, good reason! I met Chris Colfer at Book Expo! So, I had a good excuse!_

* * *

As always, thanks for reading,. I hope you guys feel a little more…fulfilled…with this chapter!

She had drifted off into a deep slumber, her thoughts twittering here and there, contented, happy, fulfilled. However, when she opened her eyes about an hour later, her mind was no longer inhibited by the romantic and passionate haze from earlier, logic and panic beginning to set in.

What was she doing? This thing with Noah...with _Puck_...what is this supposed to be? _Oh Rachel, _she mused to herself sadly. _What did you expect to accomplish by hopping into bed with him without any pretense? Other than making everything so much more complicated. What happened to your goals, ambitions, morals? Your stance on one night stands and relationships?_

So she did what she would do in any situation, and began to tick off reasons in an attempt to sort out her thoughts and rationalize the entire conundrum.

_Ok Rachel. Number one._ _You need to keep your eye on the prize. Your first and foremost relationship is the marriage you have to your dream, music, talent, singing, performing. You allowed your vision to cloud once before thanks to a man; you mustn't do it again._

_And,_ she thinks, _now,_ _number two_. _Noah lives in Ohio. That's quite a distance from New York. Even if you _were_ to enter into a relationship with him, statistical and anecdotal evidence prove that long distance relationships are almost inevitably doomed to failure and, while the emotion gathered from that experience would be excellent fodder for songwriting and performance, you can't allow any aspect of your life to be clouded by that._

_Number three..._she sighs inwardly_. Let's be honest, Rachel Barbra. You really don't know how to even be in a Noah Puckerman relationship. The girls he's been with are all these self assured sex vixens, confident...popular (well...real life doesn't have the same contained social hierarchy as high school, but still). You may have overcome the feeling of being the outcast, the unpopular girl from high school, but you are likely not as glamorous as some of the girls Noah could be dating. _She considered her "experience" with an internal eye roll. _You'll probably never measure up to any sexual conquests and you certainly don't possess the same...social prowess that his past women have exuded. You would probably spend most of your time together in a cloud of insecurity._

_Oh, yes, and also, Rachel, in case you have forgotten,_ _you don't do one night stands. You do one-person exclusive relationships. And that's _definitely_ not Noah Puckerman. Don't kid yourself into thinking you'd be the girl who could tame him. That only happens in terrible (aka, all) Katherine Heigl movies. You wouldn't even know where to start._

_So, in conclusion,_ she draws in an accomplishing breath, _why bother getting into something that is just going to end in heartache_? _And it will, most certainly. Noah is so unconventional from the relationships you've had in the past; he's not safe, reliable, dependable like Finn was._

_He's crude, he's crass. He swears so much._

_And yet...he makes you feel so...wow. It's like... flickers, flames, curling all over. And then it's...just something quite unlike anything you've ever felt with, well...anyone._

Ugh. Rachel mentally slapped herself in the forehead. _Could you please sound a little more like a teenage romance?_

_And he has his own way of being sweet, under that tough guy exterior. You've never really seen him in any kind of long term relationship,_she chastised herself.

_No, Rachel, stand firm._

_You should have set ground rules before moving from the kitchen last night. You probably shouldn't have even kissed again. He has this power over you, this undeniable sexual attraction veiling over all your interactions. _She scolds. _Maybe last night you wandered from your firm belief, deluding yourself into thinking there was something else behind the Puck, the Noah of it all. Something that wasn't all physical._

_Because you don't do one night stands. No. Rachel Berry does relationships. And the Puck you know, he doesn't do relationships._

_Right. Ok, Rachel, you're ready. _

She deliberated all this after she had untangled herself from his arms, carefully crawling to the foot of the bed. She couldn't think while she was all wrapped up in him. It was too...distracting. And wonderful, and warm, and comforting, and delicious, and...safe.

And distracting.

Noah, naked except for boxers, shifted underneath her blanket, snoring lightly. She watched him, only seeing muscles and protection and arms and hands that roamed her body so gently, confidently. Lips that brushed her hips and knees and fingers and neck and ear...

Yes, distracting.

When he stirred and woke, she lost all her composure and stammered out the first thing that came to her mind. "I...I think...I think last night was a...a m-mistake."

She had worked it out all in her head, but verbalizing her thoughts while he was looking at her so intently, with sleepy eyes and open arms? It was proving to be a much more daunting task.

"What?" He exclaimed incredulously. Because, fuck, he is happy to be (and certainly has been) other random girls' mistakes, but he is _not_, he is _fucking not _Rachel Berry's mistake.

And, hello, her behavior and her sex eyes in the kitchen, last night? Those weren't "mistake" sex eyes; he knows "mistake" sex eyes. So what the fuck are these crazyass words coming out of her mouth?

She kneaded her hands and looked down again. She couldn't make eye contact, she would lose her nerve.

"I just...I just need to focus on my career right now, Noah, and while last night was lovely, I believe it was just our hormones getting carried away, saying and acting on things we really don't mean."

She dared to look up and regretted it the moment she saw the fire behind his hazel eyes.

Because calling him a liar? No. He's not a fucking liar. For the important shit, at least. He tells his ma all the time that, no, she doesn't look fat in that dress, but for the things that really _count_, like this shit? He doesn't _lie_.

"So when you told me last night that I'm allowed to be happy? Was that a fucking lie, Berry? Cause I was fuckall happy when I woke up this morning until you laid this shit on me." He retorted.

"Noah, that's...that's not what I meant," She's momentarily disarmed by his implication of her words. "I meant _that_, you _are_allowed to be happy."

"And what about when you told me you'd wanted to kiss me too?" He shot back without pause. "Cause I remember that. And those looks you gave me in the kitchen too. Those lies, too, Berry?"

She covered her face with her hands. "No, no, Noah, you're distorting my words!"

"What about all those moans and 'oh yes, right there, Noah' and those gasps? Those lies too? You regret that shit too?"

"Stop, you're being so cruel!"

"I'm being cruel? I meant every word I said, even the fucking words I _didn't_ say, last night, Rachel." He looked hard at her. "Every fucking touch, I meant it and I don't regret it. I'm not a fucking liar. Didn't think _you_were, either."

"I just...we...this...we can't. You're too unpredictable for me, Noah."

She drove on, not wanting his honesty to throw her off again. "You're unlike the guys...um...guy...I've dated before and I wouldn't even know how to be your girlfriend. And I don't...um...sleep with people randomly, without a relationship on the horizon. I'm not that kind of girl. I'm not the kind of girl you like, Noah, you and I both know that."

"So we're in a relationship now? Or we're not? Cause I'm not Finn fucking Hudson?"

"No! I mean, we couldn't be in a relationship, can't you see that?"

No. No, he absofuckinglutely can_not_"see that". Bullfuckingshit. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"We're so different, Noah. I don't do one night stands."

"And I do?" Ok, yes, he does, but not with _Rachel_. "What the fuck? Seriously. What. The. Fuck." He's so confused because she's going between relationships and career and he's _unpredictable_? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And, ok, yeah, they hooked up but they have a fucking _history, _it's not some _random _thing. And he thought they kind of came to some sort of an agreement or...something last night about how this was...building up for awhile now?

She's talking faster, as if trying to convince herself as well as him. "I mean, really, Noah," She punctuates herself with a small smile, but he fails to see what the fucking joke is here. "You're the sex shark of Lima, you aren't a one woman kind of guy. I am, though. I mean, girl. I'm a one guy kind of girl. And that's just...we're just not compatible."

She draws up a deep breath. "Plus, you're in Ohio and I'm in New York and I just need to focus on my future and not get straddled with my past. I admit that my raging desire got the best of me, Noah, but I assure you it won't ever happen again."

_Phew. Good. Over. _She commends herself. _Yes, it was rocky at times and you did begin to lose your composure at points, but now, you've made the right decision_. So she should feel a little better...right? That curdling in the pit of her stomach, that's just...?

He stands up and starts throwing around the strewn clothing from the previous night. "Fuck, Rachel, I don't get how you get off with all this bullshit." She aches from the anger and hurt she hears in his voice.

"I hope that we can remain...friends?" Her final thought turns into a question, uttered in a tiny voice as she watches him.

He ignores her request and shoves his legs into his jeans, pulling his shirt over his head so fast, she's surprised it's still in one piece. "So you're telling me that _all_ you felt last night was fucking ovaries and shit telling you want to _fuck_," She winces at the crude way he spits out the last word as a description for their time together. "Fine. I'm done." He turns to walk out, flinging the bedroom door open, the knob clattering against the wall.

He stalks through the living room, pausing momentarily to glance at the kitchen counter where this all began. He turns and stares at her. "But I swear to God, Moses, every fucking one up there, that last night was something more than a fucking mistake or some sort of sexual itch you needed scratched. But, no, go ahead and lie to yourself."

Her eyes are wide now and the memories of last night are flooding through her. His fingers caressing her cheek, his forehead against hers, how..._safe_it felt to fall asleep coiled up into him.

How his eyes looked when he gazed at her.

_Oh dear._

"Noah..."

"You want to have me labeled as whatever you want, as a one night _fuck_, or some guy who can't _possibly_be in a relationship, but remember, I'm not the fucking liar here. I don't know what you're trying to talk yourself into or out of, but whatever. I'm out."

"Wait! Noah, please -"

"I was doing just fucking _fine_without you anyways, Rachel."

He slammed the front door and she stood, staring, dumbstruck.

What had she just done?

She immediately grabs her phone, praying that his number hasn't changed, as she scrolls through her contacts and hits send.


	7. Chapter 7

What the fuck does she get off telling him that he was a mistake? And that he can't be in a relationship?

He punches the buttons on the elevator (fuck yes, Rachel, the _elevator_, he isn't too chickenshit and he sure isn't walking down eight flights of stairs) and it clatters to the ground floor.

His phone starts ringing and he doesn't need to look at the screen to know who it is.

* * *

He's probably ignoring her call, but she still sighs with temporary relief when she hears, "It's Puck. Leave a message."

"Noah, please, I'm so sorry, those words, they just...that's not at all what I meant, Please...come back. Or call me back. Or text me. I just...let me explain? Please, Noah, please?"

* * *

The fuck kind of presumptions does she have about him, about his life? She spouts this bullshit about how proud of him she is that he changed, he's not a Lima loser, bullfuckingshit. She acts like he's the same guy from high school. Can't be in a relationship? Really?

His phone beeps with a voicemail...and then a text message shortly after. _Noah. Please. I'm sorry, those words came out wrong. Come back._

Delete.

Puck pushes the door to her building open and stomps to the corner, the sun fully risen now, the city beginning to awaken. He checks out the street signs and determines the closest route to the Penn station, 'cause he is getting the fuck outta Dodge right the fuck now.

She's the fucking liar.

Because he swears, last night, it wasn't a fluke or some orgasm seeking bullshit. That shit was the real fucking deal, he knows it was, and maybe that makes him sound like a chick but whatever. She's being ridiculous. She is such a _liar_.

His phone rings again, and he hits the end button, sending the call right to voicemail.

Fine. He lived life without her before, and he can do it again.

* * *

She's getting a little frantic. He can't ignore her forever, right?

"Noah, I know how things look...and sounded. But. But give me a chance? I...I may have acted...hastily."

"Can you at least call me back? I deserve a chance to explain."

"Noah Puckerman, you are being completely incorrigible! It is my God given right to explain myself thoroughly and clear my name! Stop ignoring me!"

"At least text me back to let me know you've arrived at your destination safely?"

"Fine. Fine, ignore me like a child. But let the record show, I did try to mend things and YOU rejected it!"

After that last voicemail message, she throws her phone across the room and stomps her foot.

_Rachel_, she tells herself. _You did the right thing._

_Then why do I feel so...horrible? Unsettled about it?_

She flops down on her bed with her head buried in her arms, and her nose fills with the scent of pine and aftershave and _Noah _from her pillow.

The tears begin to freely roll down her cheeks with the realization of what she'd done.

She didn't make the mistake last night. She made it this morning.

He doesn't realize his jaw was clenched the entire way to the train station until he unhinges it to chew on the sesame bagel he gets before his train pulls in.

He sees no less than six texts waiting from her, and he imagines more voicemail messages, cause chick likes to fucking talk. He deletes every last one of them without even reading or listening, and turns his phone off completely.

_At least I fucking know now_. He thinks, as the scenery blurs in front of him, the train accelerating away from New York City. He flops back in his seat and looks forward._ At least I fucking know where I stand with her._

* * *

He spends the next few days in a funk like a fucking PMS-y girl.

He helps out around the house with shit for Brad's wedding, but he just...fuck the world. Fuck it all.

"What are YOU so cranked about, Mr. Pissypants?" His sister Abby taunts him as he is mowing his aunt's lawn on Wednesday. She waves a Pop Tart in front of his face. "You've been moping and growling at everyone like a rabid dog."

"Outta my way," he grunts as he maneuvers the lawn mower around her.

She hops behind him and flicks his ear and she knows he fucking _hates_that.

"I heard your phone go off, like, eighty seven times in the past three days," She informs him, one hand on her hip. "It's getting really annoying. I also saw it floating in the fish tank this morning. Way to break your iphone, idiot."

"If you don't move I'll cut your damn foot off."

"Mo-om!" She sang as she ran inside the house. "Noah said damn!"

She's such a twelve year old brat, he thinks to himself.

So maybe he broke his phone, whatever, if she would just get the point and stop texting and calling him, he wouldn't have had to throw it against the wall. And it's not his fault he happened to throw it in the direction of the fish tank.

He shoves his ipod earbuds into his ears to drown out the inevitable nagging from his mom. He thumbs down and hits shuffle, turning the volume all the way up, hoping for a good angry song to come on to fit his mood.

"Where it began...I can't begin to know when.."

Fuck you, Neil Diamond. And Apple. And itunes.

He flings the ipod across the yard and considers mowing over it.

* * *

It takes Rachel two more days of moping to get up the confidence to talk about what happened. She doesn't want to give all the backstory about their complicated "not relationship" to Julia; she only mentioned to her that "things with the guy from the other night are...involved." Julia knows enough about Rachel after living with her this past year to give her some space during a funk.

When Quinn calls her for a friendly chat on Wednesday, she can't help as the words pour out of her, telling Quinn about their random chance meeting in Penn ("Ooh, that sounds like fate!"), their conversations ("Puck can get very down on himself"), what it led to at the apartment ("Hmm...it was never that...electric with me and him..."), and painfully recounting the words that caused him to storm out ("Oh...Rachel...").

"Quinn," She wails in true dramatic Rachel Berry fashion. "What do I doooo? Why won't he talk to me?"

"You know how he shuts down and tunes everyone out when he's hurting," Quinn reminds her.

"But I was just telling the truth!"

Quinn sighed. "Rachel," She began, and paused. "You know where Puck is coming from. You yourself told him over and over again how much he's changed but...you basically alluded to the fact that, as far as real adult romantic relationships go, he hasn't grown up one bit. Essentially you told him he's still a male slut."

Rachel's quiet, so Quinn plunges on. "I'm pretty sure you really hurt him, Rach. You called him a mistake."

"I didn't call HIM a mistake, I called the night a mistake!"

"And was it?" Quinn counters back.

Rachel is silent.

"See, right there? You didn't answer right away." She points out, and her voice gets quieter. "Rachel...instincts are our subconscious acting in ways our conscious can't."

"What...what do you mean?"

"You told me you agreed with him immediately, without thinking. When he said he had wanted to kiss you for awhile now."

"I...I did."

"You agreed, or you did want to kiss him?" She wisely asks.

"B..both." Rachel's stammer is quiet.

"You can't tell me you've never noticed the little Puck moments before. How he sticks up for you. How he gets all protective of you. He staged that whole intervention flash mob for you, with the nose job? You don't notice these things?"

Rachel pauses. "There was this time...after graduation, before I left for New York..." And she tells Quinn what happened at the playground between Noah and her.

"Rachel. You guys have a history. And that last story, that playground moment, that just proves to me that he couldn't view you as just a piece of ass, no strings attached, even if he tried. He did say he meant everything he did and said, right?" She can't see Rachel, but she knows she is nodding on her end of the line. "Rach, he totally has something for you. And he acted on it willingly, and you responded for once without creating a pie chart or pros and cons list. And then, when you woke up and reality set in, you got scared and reverted into letting your logical mind take control."

"But I _was _scared! I mean, it was so illogical to engage in that kind of behavior without any pretense or -"

"It's an emotion, Rachel. Not a logic."

"Who said anything about love?" She instantly countered back.

Quinn laughs. "Not me, Rachel. I absolutely did not just say the L-word. But _you _certainly did."

"I don't know how to be his girlfriend! He's unpredictable and he's not..." She trails off.

Quinn fills in the blank. "Finn."

"Exactly. It was so easy to be Finn's girlfriend," Rachel hears Quinn chuckle on the other line. "It was! Despite all those crazy ups and downs, you know what to expect, he's like the golden boyfriend. Noah...Puck...he's unconventional. I don't know how to act or what to be around him!"

"You keep saying unconventional but you have yet to really define _how_Puck is unconventional."

Rachel's quiet on the other line, and Quinn starts off again. "Listen, Rach, you've gotten this far, and it's as plain as the nose on your face...the nose he helped save, by the way...that he likes the Rachel you _haven't_ been trying to change. _You._Not whatever Rachel you think he, quote unquote, needs."

"What do I do?" She asks in a small voice. "It's been almost three years since we really spent any time together. Except for last night. I don't even know if he's looking for something more than a hookup. "

"Isn't it obvious?" Quinn's smiling on her end of the line. "He pretty much told you, not in so many words, that you're not his one night stand. And, hey, you got the first sex out of the way already! That's like, half the awkwardness you won't have to face."

"But...but I don't know what to do! And he's in Ohio! And I'm in New York, and school, and he's not answering his phone, and-"

"Rachel." Quinn cuts her off. "Chill"."

She sighs. "He won't talk to me. I've sent countless texts and left at least ten voicemails. His phone doesn't even ring anymore, it goes right to voicemail, so he's intentionally ignoring me," She sighs more pointedly and aggravatedly. "I don't even know where to find him. He's somewhere in New Jersey. I have no way of finding out where he is, no one from Glee talks to him really, except Finn. And what am i supposed to do, call Finn and be all, 'hey I slept with your old best friend last night and told him he was a mistake but now I think I may have something more for him so help me stalk him'?"

Quinn laughs. "Well, my friend, lucky for you, Finn _may_ _have _told me_ something _about Puck going to Jersey for his cousin's wedding, from the last conversation they had."

Rachels eyes light up., "Quinn! Do you have an address for me? Let me get a pen!"

"Well, silly, this _is_Finn we're talking about. He didn't give me a verbatim street and house number. But I know his family is by the coast in NJ. When Finn told me in passing, he said something about Puck being where they film that Jersey Shore show on MTV. Seaside? I think?" She chuckles. "And then he talked about how maybe Puck would see Snooki drunk and how funny that would be."

Rachel wails. "The coast is HUGE in New Jersey! How am I supposed to find him? How do I know for sure that he is in Seaside? Do I knock on every single door?"

"Well...I haven't talked to Puck in years, but I'm _pretty_sure if you show up at the Seaside boardwalk and tell him you're there alone, that protective vibe will kick in and he will at least come talk to you. Or brood and pout at you. But either way it'll get him to be in the same place as you."

"Quinn, I can't go there without a plan! That's so..."

"Unpredictable. _Unconventional_," Quinn enunciated. "Exactly." Rachel hears voices in the background. "Listen, Rach, I've got to go. Call me when you've decided what to do, ok?"

"Ok," She responds. "Thanks. Thanks, Quinn. You...you're right. About all of it."

Quinn smiles on her end. "Anytime. And Rach?"

"Yes?"

"Stop thinking things through this time. Just...jump."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I am SO SO SO SORRY this took so long to write…my muse was not cooperating, plus my real life job was getting crazy. But, here it is! Big thumbs up to you all if you still want to read this story! I still have some chapters left to go, and I'm not abandoning this one!_

Also, what you need to know: Zipcar is a rental car service where you rent cars for less than 24 hours (or more than 24 hrs). It's pretty popular in NYC.

He hits the bar Wednesday, bagging a petite brunette a mere two beers into the night. A new record.

She definitely does not have her eyes. Or her legs. Or her ass.

And she definitely does not make her sighs or her squeaks or her moans.

But she _does _havea double D chest. And she makes him, momentarily, forget about the past weekend.

This time, when he awakens in the early morning in a bed that's not his, there's no girl at the end, waiting to tell him he's her mistake. But Puck knows that this _random_ brunette, she's probably _his_ mistake, and that's fine. He manages to wiggle out from under her arm and sneak out of her apartment in the early morning, like an asshole. She barely stirs, and he thanks fuck that she apparently sleeps like the dead.

He shouldn't have let himself fall asleep there in the first place. Fuck and flee, that's always been his M.O. He had a moment of weakness. The image, the feel, of chocolate brown hair wisping against his arm, a leg curled around his. A face obscured by the sheet; he was able to almost pretend _she_ was asleep next to him instead of this random girl. And fuck, maybe he might have closed his eyes and pictured _her_ underneath him.

Parking in front of his aunt's house, Puck closes his eyes and sets his forehead against the steering wheel.

_Dammit, Puckerman, _he tells himself. _Stop being a pussy and mooning over Rachel fucking Berry. Get your head back in the game. You don't need this bull, you can get any chick you want. Sure as shit there's someone out there better than Berry._

_And she's right. Who needs fucking relationships. It's all drama crap. Why bother getting involved if you're just going to end up feeling all whiny and shit. Shit's for chicks._

_You were a whole pussy about the entire thing anyway. Overreacting like you grew a fucking vagina._

He rubs the hangover out of his eyes. His (new) phone, which he left in the car last night, buzzes with a text, and he thumbs over the screen to read it.

_Noah...?_

He doesn't get angry. He doesn't throw his phone across the car. He doesn't curse or yell or spiral into a funk (like a fucking girl, AGAIN).

He just hits delete. And goes about his business for the day without a second thought.

Because Rachel Berry? And that night? And all those little moments leading up to that night?

Whatthefuckever.

~~~

Rachel tried one more time, after her class on Thursday morning. One more text, maybe he'll answer. She went through her other classes that day in a fog, fervently checking her phone, but to no avail.

Her apartment was empty when she returned from her classes. Rachel flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Alone with her thoughts, forced to face the honesty of the situation.

_I am scared to death to physically go and track Noah Puckerman down._

_What am I going to say when - if - I find him? And what is he going to say? And where am I going to go? And how should I get there? And -_

She shakes her head to jostle out the panic.

_Ok. Deep breath._

_Do I want to do this? Go hunt him down? Is it worth it? Is he worth it? Quinn said to stop thinking, to stop analyzing. I can't help it. Analysis is what I do._

She rolled over onto her side and tucked her hands under her cheek.

_Rachel, you're analyzing on how to _not_ analyze. This is getting ridiculous._

_Do you want Noah?_

She bites her lip. There's still a faint aroma of him on her pillow, and the answer she's looking for makes itself known in the curling flutters in her stomach.

_It might turn out to be a spectacular string of curse words, heated blushes of embarrassed rejection, and salty rolls of tears._

_It might turn out to be another toe curling, fingertip tingling, passionate night. Or trail of nights. Emotionless sexual attachment._

_Probably not. At least, not the emotionless part. Because, despite whatever he pronounces to be,_ she thinks with a smile, _Noah is as emotional as I am sometimes._

_And if it does turn out to be just sex?_

_That's..._She closes her eyes and sighs. _That's ok. Because...oh, Rachel. That _sex_._

_So. That's that. I have to try. Come what may._

She reaches for her laptop and sits up.

Because, even though Quinn told her to go in _without_ a plan, it's in Rachel Berry's DNA to have SOME sort of a plan. Even if she doesn't have a red carpet rolled right out to the spot Noah was standing, she needed some sort of direction or else she'd start twitching.

Time to enlist Google's assistance for some directions.

Seaside Park...

Seaside Heights...

Seaside Borough...

_THREE Seasides? How am I supposed to know which one to go to? _The panic and nerves resurrect.

_Deep breath again_. She googles, "Seaside Boardwalk NJ" and gets an address. Just to be safe, she googles, "Seaside Jersey Shore MTV" and confirms that, yes, Seaside Heights Boardwalk is the place she is supposed to (hopefully) be going.

She logs into her Zipcar account and her finger hovers over the keyboard momentarily.

_This confirms your Zipcar reservation for 5:00pm Thursday October 3._

She clicks "Confirm".

~~~

So maybe he's just going to be a little lazy tonight, whatever. Seriously, after "sleeping" on a basement pull out couch for, like, 6 days, (and in some weird chick's bed the night before) his back hurts like a bastard.

Puck feels negative guilt about parking his ass down in the basement for the remainder of Thursday night, watching Sportscenter and sitting around in shorts and a wifebeater. He went to the gym earlier when he got home, he spent quality time with his uncle, trying to fix some old motorcycle, so he paid his dues. Everyone else is doing their own thing, so fuck yeah, he's going to eat Cheetos and wipe his hands on his shorts and burp and drink a beer or three and yeah, that's a good ass night for him.

He settles in and puts his feet up.

~~~

She lines her eyes with a smoky gray and brushes mascara on. Blinks once, blinks twice, and is pleased with the effect. Brushing her hair out one more time, Rachel pads over to her closet and scrunches up her nose, staring disdainfully at its contents. All of a sudden, every article of clothing seems imperfect for this moment.

She wants to look cute. Pretty. Beautiful. Maybe even...sexy.

Denim skirt? Yellow sundress with cardigan?

No, jeans. And boots. He liked her boots, right?

She runs her fingers through her hair again, fluffing it.

Tonight's weather forecast reports mild temperatures. A light cardigan and that cute cami with the little lace around it, yes, that will do it. And those dark blue skinny jeans, those too.

And her boots. Yes, definitely her boots.

Because he liked her boots.

~~~

His phone keeps buzzing and he's pretty sure it's Double D from last night, so he just ignores it, cursing himself for giving out his number.

He adjusts and remembers why he went commando so often in high school. Shit feels banging when all you got on are those shiny basketball shorts.

He settles in with his second beer and starts to channel surf.

His phone buzzes again.

~~~

Rachel hit some traffic driving out of the city , but that's to be expected during rush hour. However, the bumper to bumper, stop and go, is only making her more apprehensive. Despite her logical analysis-that-wasn't-an-analysis from before, she can't quell the uncontrollable pounding of her heart.

She tries to develop a speech, or at least a starting point for conversation, for when she sees Noah.

_If. If you see Noah. This all could, and probably will_, she reminds herself, _spectacularly blow up in your face, Rachel. For all you know, he went back to Ohio. Or he's in a completely different part of the state. I'm going on a delicate thread of information from Quinn, who got that information from Finn. The more channels information travels through, the more possibilities it has to break apart and manipulate._

_This is quite the exercise in leaving your comfort zone. An exercise with potentially monumental results. Or consequences._

She drives over the bridge into, according to the road sign, Seaside Heights. The sun is setting over the ocean, and little sparkles reflect on her dashboard. Rachel rolls down her window and takes in a deep breath of salty air.

She's engulfed by anxious excitement as she pulls into a parking spot near the deserted Boardwalk. There are a few lone walkers, one guy riding his bike on the boards, but it's mostly desolate. As she walks to a bench, she imagines the shops and fast food joints bustling in the summertime, the smell of pizza and fries and grease in the air. She'll have to try and come back.

_Of course, that will depend on what kind of memories this place holds...after tonight._

Rachel wraps her arms around herself. There is a definite chill in the air that she didn't expect once the sun went down, and her lightweight cardigan isn't doing much to shield her from the breeze.

She just wants him to answer her already. She sends another text.

_I'm sitting here on the Seaside Heights Boardwalk. Please come talk to me._

She crosses her ankles and waits as the sky darkens and transitions into night.

~~~

He's about to craft a pretty asshole response to Double D, because, seriously, get a fucking clue.

But it's not her.

Of all the texts Rachel had sent in the past few days, for some reason, he chose to read this one instead of automatically deleting it.

_I'm sitting here on the Seaside Heights Boardwalk. Please come talk to me._

What.

The.

FUCK.

SHE'S ON THE BOARDWALK? HERE?

He shakes his head. _Fuckin' Berry._ Once she sets her mind to something, there isn't shit anyone can do to stop her.

~~~

It's a matter of seconds before her phone beeps with a response, and Rachel has to gulp several times before opening the text.

_WHAT?_

He responded. HE RESPONDED. She smiles giddily, then reminds herself not to get her hopes up. He could tell her to walk out of his life forever (using some choice, Puck-esque words, of course). But he responded, and that's further than she had gotten in the past few days.

_You wouldn't answer my calls or texts, so I decided to come find you in person. I'm right here on the Boardwalk. I'm in front of an arcade called Lucky Leo's. Please come talk to me?_

~~~

What the fuck. Seriously. He can't just LEAVE her there, the Boardwalk in Seaside on a Thursday night in October isn't exactly...safe.

But then again, it's not like she's going to get mugged or anything. He knows she can hold her own (kind of); she does live in New York. Kind of.

Still, the kind of characters that hang out on the boards during the off-season can be a little questionable.

He's not going to save her. He's not opening up that can of worms again. He's not going to go in some sweeping romantic bullshit and have some long heartfelt conversation with her. Because, fuck, she told him he was a mistake and he is _fucking fine without her and it should stay that way_ _and fine._

He is going to tell her what an idiot she is for coming all the way to Seaside Heights by herself and sitting her ass on a deserted, potentially dangerous, Boardwalk. It's about time someone made her realize she wasn't the fucking center of the goddamn universe.

He starts to type in a reply text.

And then he stops.

~~~

After about 25 excruciatingly long minutes, Rachel feels the hot tears begin to well up in her eyes.

_He's not coming._

He didn't respond to her last text. Nothing.

She took a risk, she took a chance and it blew up at her. She swept her palms across her face. _You prepared for this, Rachel. You knew this was a potential outcome. You knew there was a chance he would continue to ignore you. You knew there was a chance that he didn't want any contact with you, any sliver of you, in his life any longer. He made that clear when he left._

_But why does it hurt so much?_

_You were fine without him before, Rachel. Nothing is different. Nothing has changed that much, except for one night of passion. You have survived up to this point without Noah Puckerman in your life._

But still...why does it still hurt _so much?_

She sighed and stood up, turning to face the ocean. Rachel gathered her purse and took one last look at the waves crashing against the shore. She turned around, eyes trained on the ground, to start the lonely walk back to the parking lot.

She saw a pair of Nike sneakers, leading up to black satiny shorts, leading up to a navy hoodie.

And there he was.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thank you thank you thank you thank yoooou for all your kind words and reviews! Hope this chapter makes some of you hate me a little less now ;-)_

* * *

Fuck, she's wearing those _boots _again.

His anger is starting to slowly subside, replaced by...God, those _boots_.

"Noah...w-what are you..." She's taken so off guard that she's lost her ability to speak. "Doing here?"

He stared at her. "You told me to come talk to you. And, fuck, Rachel, what the fuck makes you think that coming to a deserted Boardwalk is a good fucking idea?" He grabs her upper arm and begins to steer her in the direction of the parking lot.

"Be-CAUSE," She indignantly replies, jerking her arm away from him. "You refused to answer me the first fifty or so times I texted and called you." She walked back to the bench and plopped down. "I'm not leaving until we talk."

Puck rolled his eyes. Seriously, fucking Berry and her fucking stubbornness. "There's nothing to _talk _about, Berry," He snarled, inwardly wincing at the bitterness in his voice. He tried again. "I mean, it's done, whatever." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Rachel bit her lip and looked up at him. "It's not...done, Noah," She replied quietly. "I...I didn't mean what I said."

"Ok, fine, apology accepted, now go home."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

He sighed and scrubbed his hand over the back of his mohawk. "The fuck else is there? We hooked up. I completed my task of doing all the girls in Glee, the end." Maybe if he's crude, she'll leave.

Because he was fine, just _fine,_and now she fucking goes and shows up and wants to all talk and shit and, just...no. He's not going there again.

Rachel closed her eyes momentarily. _He's going to make this so difficult._

"I..." She bit her lip. "I got scared when we got close and I...I..panicked. And I reacted in a way that was so far removed from the truth and now I realize that you are most certainly not a mistake, Noah."

"'Kay. I said, s'fine. Now go home."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving until we have a two sided conversation, with you saying more than three words. Talking to you is like talking to a wall sometimes."

He threw his head back and closed his eyes in frustration. "Seriously, Berry?"

"Seriously, Puckerman."

He groaned and flopped down on the bench next to her. They both sat in unyielding silence for a few minutes. The sky was completely dark, and without any inch of sunlight to ease the chill, Rachel shivered.

"Jesus, Rachel, didn't you bring a coat or somethin'?"

"No...the weather forecast said mild temperatures."

"It's always colder down by the water." He shrugged himself out of his navy blue hoodie. "Here."

Rachel looked at him incredulously. "But you're just wearing a t-shirt and shorts, won't you be cold?" Regardless, she pushed her arms through the large sleeves and zipped it up to her neck, breathing in deeply. _Ohh...it smells like him._

"Nah." He's momentarily thankful for throwing a t shirt over his Cheetos stained wifebeater.

She fiddled with the zipper of the hoodie while contemplating her next words. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him jiggling his foot. _ Is he...is that a nervous twitch? _She was surprised when he started the conversation.

"So what exactly is it, Rachel? Why did you come here?" He actually is kind of curious. "You apologized. I'm not mad." Ok, maybe he still is, but whatever, he'll deal with that himself.

"I..." _Why is this so hard?_"I just...I'm really sorry, Noah."

"You said that."

_Why can't I find the right words? _"I...I know."

_He _knows there's more she needs to say. But he's not fucking... Ugh, alright, so he kind of put himself out there the last time, with her, and she told him he was a mistake. So sue him if he's not exactly rolling out the red fucking carpet and constructing a billboard with his feelings for her.

It's her fucking turn.

He stands up, turns around, and jumps over the railing onto the sand below them. "Change of scenery, Berry." He holds his hand out. "Nothin' like Jersey sand."

Rachel's eyes widen as she looks over the back of the bench at him. "Noah!" She whisper-yells. "We are not supposed to be on the beach after dark! It says so on the signs!" She gestures to the sign right next to them to prove her point.

He smirked and she melted. _That smirk._"I don't do rules, Rachel." He nods his head towards the waves crashing just a few yards away. "Come on, I practically own these beaches, been comin' here since I was five."

She hesitates and stands up slowly, looking around, half expecting to see a SWAT team jump out from behind the arcade. Rachel gingerly steps between the railings and takes his offered hand, hopping into the sand. It doesn't give as much as she expected; the pillow-like qualities extending to sight alone. Her knees buckle a bit, and luckily, Noah is there to catch her.

_Ohhh.._.She draws in a breath upon the feel of his arms around her waist.

_Fuck_...He inwardly groans at how..._eas_y is it to hold her.

Rachel quickly stiffens up and brushes at the sand on her feet. "My choice of footwear isn't exactly conducive to beach walking."

"So take 'em off." _So_ fucking _hot_though.

"No!" She's amazed at the lack of thermostat this boy has. "It's FREEZING out!"

He toes his sneakers off, and then his socks. "Gotta feel the sand between your toes, Rachel. All part of the experience." He wiggles his feet deep into the sand. "Ahh. Cold sand."

"No. Staying on."

"Suit yourself. Not easy to walk on the sand with heeled boots, though, Diva." He replies, a little more condescending than he intended.

_Diva? He's incorrigible!_"I am not a diva!" She stamped her foot on the sand. "It is completely irresponsible and...and...UNSENSIBLE to be in bare feet in cold sand on an October night!"

Again, Puck brings out his patented smirk, but doesn't mention her made-up word. "Is it any less responsible than, say, driving, like, 75 miles and sitting on a deserted boardwalk?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"I did that because I CARE about you!" She stamped her foot again.

"But what if I didn't come meet you? Or if this was the wrong place?" He replied, less teasingly.

She huffed angrily, crossing her arms.

He held up his arms in surrender. "Ok, ok. How did you even know to come _here_in the first place?"

"I asked Quinn. And she remembered something Finn said."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"So..." He trailed off. "What _would_you have done if I didn't come?" He halfway knows the answer. He had seen her wiping the tears from her eyes when he walked up to the bench, just out of her vision.

"I...I don't know."

He took a step closer to her, the breeze whipping her hair around her face. "Why did you come here tonight, Rachel?" He asked in a low voice. The waves crashed against the shore, providing the juxtaposition of a calming soundtrack against her thumping heart.

His eyes are trained on her, and she can't find her words, her thoughts. She just stares back at him.

He's sneaky. And maybe he shouldn't tease her like this, because he knows she's speechless and Rachel fucking Berry doesn't get speechless unless it's something big. But he's just trying to make her comfortable enough to talk to him, make her relax a bit.

So he takes advantage of the fact that she can't tear her eyes off of him to use his toes (hell yeah, even his toes have fucking talent) to unzip her left boot. Good thing she's short.

She feels leather flop against her ankle. "What...did you just do?"

He doesn't smirk this time. He full out grins. "Unzipped your boot there, Berry."

"NOAH!" She screeched, and fuck, he grins wider cause she's all kinds of adorable right now with her indignation. He takes advantage of her tantrum and bends down, quickly unzipping the other boot. He jogs down the shoreline.

"NOAH!" She screeches again and starts to run after him, but she's falling out of her unzipped boots. Groaning, she peels them, and her socks, sand is cool between her toes and she quite enjoys the texture of it, even if the temperature is a little too chilly for her liking.

She's not about to admit to him, though, that he was right.

"Noah, where are you, I am going to -" She stops, shaking her head from side to side. She was so focused on removing her socks and placing them neatly and safely in her boots that she didn't see where Puck ran off to. She hears the whoosh of the ocean, but no laughter, no voice to follow the sound.

"N..Noah?" _What if the riptide got him? There can be dangerous currents in the Atlantic Ocean. Or was it the Pacific? _She tries to remember the rule of thumb when a rip current gets a hold of you, and goes to get her cell phone from her purse to dial 911.

_My purse is back by the railing, what if he's already swept out to sea by then? _She's full out panicking now._ I'm alone on the beach and I lost Noah and my purse is all the way over there and I'm cold and this was such a dumb idea and -_

"GOTCHA!" She feels herself being picked up, arms around her waist, and she screams.

"NOAH PUCKERMAN I HATE YOU!"

He can't stop laughing. Ok, so maybe he is a little cruel.

She wriggled out of his grasp. "I thought a riptide had gotten you! You're so mean! And totally rude! And completely irrational! And insanely unpredictable!"

Unpredictable...the word strikes a chord with him and he puts her down. "So is that what you meant by me being too unpredictable for you?" He's serious when he asks, but she's still too wound up with her angry adrenaline, that she forgets to be hesitant and nervous.

"No! I meant that I didn't know how to be your girlfriend!" The words start tumbling out of her mouth faster than she is ready for. "I don't know how to be in any relationship! To be anyone's girlfriend! I only had Finn, and I knew exactly what to expect with Finn and I even screwed that up!" Somewhere in between her yelling, tears started to run down her cheeks. "I can't define us! I can't figure this out and I hate it! I hate not knowing what to expect because _how_ am I supposed to _prepare _myself for the day you inevitably break my heart?"

He just stares at her.

"You're mean, you're crude, you're unlike anyone I have ever known, I know even less how to deal with you! But...but then you have this sweet side that just, I just...you make me feel such a pull, I just get DRAWN to you, I've always just been _drawn_to you and I can't explain it or define it or understand it and I hate hate HATE it but at the same time, after Saturday I just need you in my life and for more than just the amazing sex!"

She's out of breath from emotion, and bends over, her hands steadying herself on her knees, panting.

"That...that was a lot of words." Puck manages to reply. She can only nod; her outburst has taken everything out of her.

"Are...are you done?" He asks. She nods again.

"So. I'm a fucking dick, you know that, I can't do this feelings bullshit like you girls do. But..." He speaks slowly. "You...don't have to fucking marry us off just cause we slept together."

She looks at the ground. _I've ruined it, I've scared him off,_ she thinks._ I said too much too soon, oh Rachel, why did you let your emotions take hold of you like that? Quinn was wrong, I was wrong, there's nothing here, between us. I've made it all up._

She readies herself for the fall, for the inevitable speech of, 'it's not you it's me' that all her entanglements always end up with. Rachel closes her eyes, hoping to stop the tears that threaten to spill out.

So she's amazed, surprised, when she feels his thumb gently swipe across her cheek, wiping the already fallen tears, and she involuntarily leans into his touch. One of his hands tucks her hair behind her ear.

"It's not a bad thing to just...let whatever fucking happens, happen and just...go with it." His low murmur vibrates in her ear. She's not ready to open her eyes yet and break this spell.

_Just go with it. Yes. Rachel. _She tells herself. _Lead with your...emotions. Jump._

She swallows hard, and even though her eyes are still closed, she can feel his gaze on her still. His hand is still on her face, his thumb just grazing, lightly, the touch barely registering.

Taking hold of his free hand for balance, she slowly leans up on her tiptoes to reach his face.

He's watching her, he consciously sees her leaning in towards him, but he's still surprised when he tastes her strawberry lipgloss, feels her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

He hesitates in kissing her back. His hand stalls on her face.

But he doesn't pull away. Not yet.

Her fingertips, her nails scrape the newly trimmed fuzz on the back of his neck, and it takes every ounce of willpower to not throw her down on the sand right there.

Because, fuck, it's her turn to take the lead. He's not going to get all sucked into this again only to be hit with another "mistake" speech. He needs _her_to make this decision.

But his body can't completely ignore hers pressing against him, and his fingers tentatively stretch into her hair. His thumbs draw lazy, gentle circles on her neck, sweeping her jaw, and Rachel melts further into the kiss. Her lips knead open his mouth and he feels her warm sigh in the back of his throat. One hand remains entangled in her hair, on her neck, while the other roams down, bringing her closer. His fingers slide up and down her back and she shivers at the gentle contact.

He just can't fucking help himself when it comes to this girl. And now she's moaning and sighing and her hands are on his neck and she's all, light kisses along his jaw and fuck, _nibbling _on that area behind his ear and his legs just don't fucking work anymore and that's why he sinks down to the sand, ok?

She moves down with him, slowly, kneeling, curling her toes behind her, digging them into the chilled ground, her entire body on fire with this newfound, newly discovered, newly labeled...desire.

Fuck it all. Fuck logic and all this fucking shit just don't stop nibbling and sucking and, God, Rach, fuck.

"What?" She breathes the question against his neck.

Oops. Shit, did he just say all that out loud?

"Nothing, baby, nothing," he mumbles.

He told her to just go with it. He might as fucking well do the same thing.


End file.
